Song of the Siren
by Cebaje
Summary: Lucius Malfoy plays host to an incarcerated Death Eater's Siren daughter, a young woman promised to Lord Voldemort and destined to bring Harry Potter to his ruin. Totally AU, LMOC. M for violence, sex, language.
1. Prologue

Song of the Siren : Prologue.  
  
Author's notes :  
  
Iphany, Icarus, and the late Ilia Novara all belong to yours truly. Lucius Malfoy and the like belong to Madame Rowling, God bless her creative soul.  
  
This is my first attempt at a serious HP fic. It will have gratuitous smut and violence scattered throughout. You have been warned. Story takes places in what would be Harry's sixth year at Hogwarts.  
  
Enough stalling, here I go.  
  
// Prologue //  
  
Even with the blindfold on, Iphany could sense the bodies around her. They shifted and moved, whispered, cast warmth and glances in her direction. She did not know if there were ten or a hundred of them, but she was certain she stood in the center of their circle, for the presence came from all sides. A chill unlike fear or cold crept the length of her spine with stealthy, unwashed fingers. Her stomach churned with anticipation. The humming talk grew louder around her for a few moments and then died in an instant as a new presence entered the room. Dark, slick, she could taste his power on her tongue, a flavor of bitter wine and blood. Like Lucius.  
  
"Bring her to me."  
  
Iphany was seized, hands hewn rough by nerve and fire. She turned her face blindly to her captor. Was it him? She thought she would have known by touch, by smell or footsteps, but she couldn't tell. Sightlessness did not heighten other senses, only made her feel slightly frantic and itchy. Not afraid, though. Not yet. He'd told her not to be, and she believed him. Tonight was a Great Becoming for Iphany Novara. And while her victory still buzzed in the air, she knew the trueness of her task was yet to come.  
  
"She is beautiful, Lucius. You did not lie. Perfect, I would venture to say. Wouldn't you?"  
  
At the sound of his name, Iphany stiffened. And when she heard his voice, her skin was hot again.  
  
"Yes, my Lord."  
  
Instinctively, Iphany turned to Lucius' voice. Her eagerness was noted by the presence hovering just before her. Lucius Malfoy flinched beneath his mask when he saw the Dark Lord's jaw twitch.  
  
"Remove her robes." Voldemort watched in impassive silence as Lucius stepped forward. He lifted her curtain of raven blue hair and untied the simple white sheath, and his hands felt like memories against her skin. Lucius was briefly thankful that he had remembered to wear the amulet; otherwise the touch, the sight, the smell of her so close would have belied his involvement. As it were, he was beginning to feel trapped. Something was wrong.  
  
Iphany shrugged out of the robe, unashamed as the ivory silk puddled at her feet. Lord Voldemort gave an appreciative sigh.  
  
"She is worthy to be mine, don't you think, Lucius? She has proven herself loyal to our cause, bringing our greatest foe to our feet with a whisper. And she is...exquisite."  
  
Iphany heard footsteps from both sides as Lucius backed away from her and the Dark Lord came forward. His hands was cold, unpleasantly cold as he cupped her breast with one and lifted her chin with the other. She felt a pair of lips cover her own, thin and sharp. Lucius tightened next to her, sucking in a breath that only she could hear.  
  
At least, she thought...  
  
"Lucius." Voldemort said smoothly, pulling away from Iphany, leaving the places where he'd touched her feeling almost...bruised, even though his hands had been gentle.  
  
"Yes, My Lord?" For the first time, his tone was uncertain. Iphany began to feel the first tickling of real fear. He was nervous, and so with a great jolting suddeness, so was she.  
  
"You fucked her, didn't you? " Voldemort asked, though there was little question in his voice. Iphany's stomach dropped as though she'd fallen from a broom. Lucius rushed to respond, stumbling fatally over his words.  
  
"No, your greatness. I would never...I...I knew she was saved for you." He stepped forward so that he stood between the Dark Lord and his bride to be. Iphany was trembling, hidden behind him. She felt warmer in his shadow than she had in Lord Voldemort's hands.  
  
"You lie. How many times, Lucius?"  
  
"I swear to you, my Lord, I did not-" Iphany heard shuffling as someone pulled Lucius back, and someone else reached for her and untied her blindfold. She barely had time to register her surroundings - stone and ceilings so high she could not fathom their end. Vulnerability seemed more prevalent without the blindfold -- fleeting shadows surrounded her, still countless shapes brought to life only by the faint glimmer of firelight on the white masks. Lucius had been stripped of his and driven to his knees, where he was held by two other pale faced Death Eaters.  
  
"I don't believe you." Voldemort rounded on her, and for the first time she looked on him fully. Her revulsion was hidden beneath calm eyes and steady breath, but inside she was weeping. Her chin held high, she faced the most feared wizard of all time with an easy, forthcoming smirk.  
  
"Did you sleep with this man, Iphany?" He asked, his tone light and jovial. Lucius looked up at her, transfixed even in his final hour.  
  
"No." She responded immediately. It was a struggle not to turn and meet Lucius' gaze. Lord Voldemort clucked reprovingly, drawing his wand out of his robe. He pointed it at her, and hissed;  
  
"Priora corpeas."  
  
A beam of blue struck her in the throat. She fell to her knees and clutched at the ground, and her voice was strained and passionate when she spoke again.  
  
"Lucius..oh...God..."  
  
Lord Malfoy sagged beside her, limp in his captors' hands. Lord Voldemort chuckled, reaching down to wrench the half-Siren to her feet. Her eyes were bereft of tears, but now she trembled in earnest, her throat dry and constricting with unshed sobs.  
  
"You lied to me. You knew she was mine, Lucius. I did not think I had to tell you not to take her." Each of the Dark Lord's words were poison, darting from his fleshless lips to light on Iphany's naked skin.  
  
"I'm...I'm sorry my Lord. I removed the necklace once...and I touched her...and...I could not..."  
  
"I know, Lucius. You are weak, and she is a being of undeniable beauty. You could not help it. That is why I am going to spare you. Let him up." Voldemort replied, his voice almost consoling. The Death Eaters obeyed, and Lucius rose to his feet.  
  
"Thank you, my Lord. You are most gracious." Lucius replied, bowing again and again as he turned to make his way back to his place in the circle. Voldemort stopped him before he could rejoin the ranks.  
  
"Wait, Lucius. You must understand that I consider this little vixen entirely at fault. She must be punished, don't you think?"  
  
"Ye--yes. Of course."  
  
Tears finally stung Iphany's eyes. She turned to Lucius; he could not match her gaze.  
  
"Death is appropriate, isn't it? She seduced you, decieved me...high treason."  
  
"My Lord, if I may be allowed to say...I think..." He trailed off, unable to finish at the sight of Voldemort's glare. A thin smile crawled across the Lord's lips, and he sheathed his own wand.  
  
"You do it, Lucius."  
  
"My Lord, I--"  
  
"Do it, or I'll kill both of you. Prove your loyalty to me or die."  
  
Iphany squeezed her eyes shut when Lucius reached for his wand. She knew he could not chose her over his own life. It was a ridiculous thought. He took his place in front of her, his back to Voldemort.  
  
"Look at him, Iphany." The Dark Lord commanded. Iphany shuddered and opened her eyes, tears gathering at an uncontrollable rate. Lucius' face was cold and emotionless as he raised his wand.  
  
'I'm sorry," He mouthed, his words unseen to anyone but Iphany. She squared her shoulders and met his eyes. A soft smile touched her face as she remembered.  
  
"Now, Lucius." Voldemort commanded sharply. Lucius drew in a deep breath.  
  
"Avada..."  
  
TBC


	2. History

Song of the Siren : Chapter One - History.  
  
Author's note : It has come to my attention that I have lost my writing mojo. This is unfortunate, as this story commands to be written, whether or not my skills are wont to comply. Perhaps I'll be able to do better as the story progresses, as right now I'm pulling a Thomas Wolfe and writing like a gigantist.  
  
Anyway, enjoy. Gimme reviews!  
//History//  
  
Sirens and Humans have always been distrustful of each other. You knew this before Homer wrote his false tales of half-harpy she-devils luring blameless sailors to a bloody fate against the rocky coast. You knew it before bards sang tales of smoke-voiced women who waited on the shore to drown father and son and grand patriarch alike. There are many stories illustrating the habits of these ''vengeful sea faeries," none of which are true and all of which lay every ounce of malice and blame on the Siren.  
  
The truth paints a far different picture, one not so flattering to the men who write books and sing pretty songs. Few and far between are the documented accounts of lustful men happening upon a coven of moon bathing Sirens, chasing the slowest to exhaustion, and then raping the unwilling beauty until his desire is sated.  
  
The revenge of the Siren, however, would always bring justice to the crime against her, and it was from this that the Humans took their tales of death and violence. For once a man has taken a Siren, he cannot eat, dream or breathe until he has touched her again. Family and friends alike must watch him pine the weeks away as he takes solace only in the light of the moon and the sound of the ocean.  
  
Finally, his longing overtakes him and he must return to the sea where he found her. This time, she is waiting, standing half-submerged in the water, smiling openly and beckoning with outstretched arms.  
  
He wades further and further into the ocean, reaching, always reaching for her, until he is sucked down into the undercurrent and never seen or heard from again.  
  
Such is the way the true stories ought to go, though it is widely known that the world of Man would rather place blame on any but himself.  
  
It was one of these incidents that sparked the Human's attempted extermination of the Sirens. Loe Hornbuckle, son to the mayor of bay town- Shallycob, disappeared without a breath of explanation one full moon summer evening. The weeks prior to his vanishing had been filled with talk of his love for a particular Siren often sighted bathing in Clingman's cove. When Loe's clothing washed up on shore a month later, Mayor Hornbuckle was nine shade of furious. He called for a war against the Sirens, and for a time the bounty fetched for Siren scalp, eyes and hide was enough to make a poor man rich beyond his humblest expectations.  
  
It took six months, but at the end of this time, not a single Siren had been sighted on the shores of Shallycob or anywhere else on the island. The people declared victory, and they celebrated by burning skin and eyes and hair in a great bonfire at the mouth of Clingman's Cove.  
  
The smell, which should have been unpleasant, sang faintly of sealilly. With their faces burned hot by the fire and great triumphant joy in their voices, the people of Shallycob chanted and danced long into the night.  
  
.But the Sirens were not extinct. A tiny coven of them, less than a dozen, watched in sorrow as mutilated bits of their sisters floated, ash-light, into the stagnant summer air.  
  
"We must have vengence." whispered the youngest, who at three years shy of a century was countest as the least wise amongst those that remained.  
  
"They outnumber us by the thousands. Would you have all chance of our survival destroyed?" replied her eldest sister, Renali. She winced as the humans flung another sack of blue-black hair onto the pyre. "No more blood will be shed this night. We need them, you know this. All but the last three ancients have a trace of human blood in their veins. We cannot procreate without them."  
  
She was silent for many long moments, and in this time she gathered her youngest sister close. Her pale eyes were hollow and sad as she cleared a lock of dark hair from the little one's forehead. Her voice was soft and misty when she spoke again, and little Ilia felt a tremble of destiny settle in her chest.  
  
"One day, you will leave the sea and take a human husband. He will give you a daughter, the first of our kind to be born earth-bound. She will know the ways of men, but the song of our losses will ring as freshly in her ears as it does in yours tonight. She will give us our revenge when she delivers unto us the most powerful of all human men,"  
  
The little one nodded, her head resting on Renali's shoulder.  
  
"Until then, we shall sing softly and swim quietly. No harm will come to us, for the moon and the sea will keep us well hidden. Do not be afraid."  
  
And so with final wistful glances thrown towards the orange glow on the shore, the last ten Sirens slipped beneath the waves, unseen and forgotten until Icarus Novara decided to take a stroll along the shore of Clingman's Cove. 


	3. Beginnings

Song of the Siren : Chapter 3 - Beginnings  
  
Author's note : Damn FF.net and its silly spacings. I can't ever make anything turn out the way it's supposed to. Here's chapter 3. I still own nothing.  
  
// Beginnings //  
  
The Novara Estate was built on Clingman's Cove a hundred years after the last Siren was seen in Shallycob. Admetus Novara, the wealthiest wizard in Scotland, came to the island in search of solitude and silence for the twilight of his years. Admetus found the island charming, and just isolated enough to provide peace and quiet. The manor he built was an artistic achievement of stone and mortar, and it became the center of Shallycob's tourism draw. Admetus spent his last ten years in the house on Clingman's Cove, and upon his death ownership of the manor passed to his eldest son, Mortimer.  
  
The house changed hands in this way for another century, and during this time fewer and fewer of Shallycob's citizens flocked to marvel at the house on the cove. The Novaras were a dark, secretive bunch - anyone happening near the mansion at night would return spinning fibs about magic and wizards and very strange noises. People would inevitably name the reporter a raving lunatic, but none the less, the Novaras were not a well received family.  
  
Icarus Novara inherited the estate at twenty, just two years after his graduation from Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He was a tall, stately man, handsome and effete and well on his way to becoming a Very Important Person. His highly commendable position in the Aurors of Scotland earned him respect and trust, a perfect guise under which operated a man of unspeakable greed and evil.  
  
As the Dark Lord wrought terror upon the Wizarding world, Icarus played the betrayer, merrily delivering his fellow Aurors into the hands of the enemy until the Scottish force was all but spent.  
  
Then came the Great Defeat, a tragedy that plunged all the Death Eaters into hiding or prison. Icarus came to trial and escaped by association, calling on the defense of his recently aquitted comrade, Lucius Malfoy. It was then that he relocated to the family home in Shallycob,  
  
He was alone, but not lonely, for loneliness is a feeling only the Good can experience. He was perfectly content to bide time until the Dark Lord's imminent return, keeping contact with his fellow Death Eaters to ensure that he would be informed when the time came.  
  
Meanwhile, he spent his days in the estate, attended by a fleet of House Elves and Invisible Servants. He read and studied, whiling his months away in Shallycob until his reputation dwindled to nothing more than Crazy Hermit.  
  
One evening, as the sky faded from blue to velvet, Icarus decided to wander the sandy shore flanking Clingman's Cove. The water here was calm, smooth like unbroken glass, and so clear that he could see small pebbles lining the baybed. The first stars yawned and woke, bringing with them a pale reflection of silver, sparks of white exploding across gentle ripples.  
  
When the moon made his first grand, grinning debut, Icarus found himself oddly mesmerized by the sight of the flat opal disc mirrored in the water. He was surprised that he had never really noticed how lovely the cove was at night; the stars shone like platinum on black satin, and the sound of the ocean in the distance rang like a soft gentle song. He settled on a large jettied rock that overhung the pond, his legs dangling over the water. He glanced down at the water again, expecting to catch a glimpse of his own reflection. What he saw instead elicited a very unmanly screech and a frantic scrambling for the shore.  
  
The face grinning up at him was by far the most beautiful he had ever seen. The woman rising out of the water had a silver-clad, Venusian body and hair like midnight, deepest black hinted by tones of sheer blue. Icarus could not speak, nor make any intelligent move as the Siren stepped on to the shore. She brought with her a faint scent, like flowers and starlight forgotten beneath a stormcloud. Icarus' heart struggled to pound, straining against his chest in painful strokes of unbearable irregularity.  
  
Had he spent any length of time in Shallycob's main streets, he would have identified the strange woman in an instant. Paintings of Sirens decorated every restaurant and shop in town, and businesses sported names like "The Sirensong" ( a violin repair shop ) and "The Ocean Witch" ( a traveler's inn.)  
  
As it were, Icarus could not fathom a reason as to why a creature of such breathtaking beauty would be lolling about at the bottom of an ocean-fed pond.  
  
Suspicion seized him for a moment as the girl drew closer. He started skittishly when she reached behind her neck and unfastened a slim silver chain bearing a blue gem shaped like a crescent moon.  
  
"I belong to you." She whispered; her voice was moonlight and regret, pure gold and slick red fire. The sound of her words alone drew Icarus in and held him fast, and suddenly he could think nothing but 'mine,' and 'now.' He opened his hand to an unfamiliar weight, the crescent on the silver chain nestled in his palm. It gave off a faint white glow, not unlike the real moon rising above them.  
  
"Who are you?" He breathed, automatically slipping the charm over his head.  
  
"Ilia." She replied, reaching for his hand. The touch of her skin was lightning, and Icarus felt as though he were treading slowly through warm water.  
  
"You're going to marry me," Icarus said, firmly and without room for argument. Ilia laughed and drew him close and kissed him fully on the mouth, and for the first time in his life, Icarus Novara knew true bliss.  
  
Far out in the surf, hidden by the crashing waves, three Sirens smiled as the Man led their sister into his house.  
  
Ilia the Siren became Ilia Novara a week later at a sunset ceremony on Clingman's Cove. Witnesses were few, a handful of Icarus' friends watching in mild shock as he wed an honest-to-Merlin Siren.  
  
This was the last time anyone saw Ilia, for once the wedding was over, Icarus guarded her as jealously as a secret. The villagers grew even more distrusting, for the man who had recently only been seen in the evening, alone in the couryard or on the balcony could now be spotted in the company of a ravenhaired beauty that resembled the paintings and statues in the courtsquare with an unsettling likeness. Sometimes she would sing to him, and the sound of her voice drifted over the village and drove grown men into the streets until angry wives dragged them back in by their shirtcollars.  
  
Everything seemed to be progressing exactly as Ilia and her sisters had forseen. But when she brought her daughter Iphany into the world, things began to take a very unpleasant turn. 


	4. Grief

Song of the Siren : Grief  
  
Author's note : I have nothing new to report. Where are the reviews, people?  
  
// Grief //  
  
"Master Novara! Master Novara!"  
  
Icarus glared blearily up from the bottle of brandy, directing a half-eyed squint at the ugly House Elf screeching into his parlor. The stupid creature (Blat? Splat? He couldn't remember) wore a misshapen shift that was usually dirty, but never so streaked with dark red. Panic sailed in on fluttery black wings and settled in the back of his liquor soaked consciousness.  
  
"Master Novara, please come quickly! Miss Ilia is not well, she be giving the baby and now she cries for the pain, Master! I think she is dying!" Blat (as the creature was so called,) burst into tears and covered her face with grimy hands.  
  
Icarus was out of the chair like a shot, scrambling down the hall to the birth-room. As he passed, each torch sconced on the wall sputtered and lit, following his procession and casting deep gray shadows in his wake.  
  
The door flew open and he was immediately struck with the scent of death. It was a rich, sick smell; Icarus brought a trembling hand to his mouth and nose to stifle the stench.  
  
Though the hallway was dark and shadowed, in here the fire blazed and the stars poured in through the skylight. The watery glow threw Ilia's sprawled form on the narrow bed into sharp relief, lending silver to trace her sweat soaked limbs and face. Another House Elf stood by the bed, clutching a wriggling bundle in her tiny, spindly arms.  
  
"Icarus." Ilia whispered, her voice thin and transparent. He drew near and knelt by the bed, averting horrified eyes from the sight of the still growing patch of scarlet that gathered between her outflung legs.  
  
"Oh, Ilia, y-you're going to be fine." Icarus stammered, taking his wife's hand and clutching it to his chest. Ilia winced and arched weakly as another dark sticky current of blood discharged from her battered womb.  
  
"Icarus. Take care of Iphany." Ilia sighed, turning her pale face to that of her husband. Tears burned the corners of Icarus' eyes. Even in the moments before death, she was still unbearably beautiful.  
  
"You're not dying." Icarus replied, this time in the stern and inarguable tone he used with disobedient servants. Ilia smiled softly, and used what was left of her strength to lay a gentle hand on his cheek. Against every grudge and memory of vengeance ingraine din her soul, Ilia had fallen in love. She had not meant to; it had been the Accident of all Accidents. But as she trained her narrowing vision on the anguished face before her, she could not deny the surge of sorrow that took hold of her heart. And her daughter -little Iphany- she would never fully understand, she would not-  
  
" 'Love you." Ilia muttered, suddenly to tired to breathe. Icarus clung to her hand and pleaded, begged as he watched her slip into nothing, her pale green eyes dulling to dilated black. He felt a great gaping emptiness roar inside his chest, and he emitted a dry, choking sob.  
  
For he, too, had fallen in love. The man who had once watched with contemptuous amusement as another human being writhed beneath the Cruciatus had known the truth of devotion. His love for Ilia had been his only softening, and as she slumped lifelessly in his arms, she took with her every ounce of decency and compassion that he had left in his heart. 


	5. Interlude

Song of the Siren : Interlude  
  
Author's note : A chapter-ette. Call it a bridge.  
  
// Interlude //  
  
"She's dead."  
  
A mournful whisper rippled across the group of Sirens hovering near the thoroughway to Clingman's Cove. The moon was new, which meant they should have been asleep beneath the coral grove on the other side of the island. Instead they were huddled, handfast, struck dumb by grief and sudden helplessness.  
  
"She was our last hope for revenge." whispered Renali, releasing the hands that kept her circlebound and gliding forward towards the stiller waters of the cove.  
  
"She was our last hope for many things, Renali. But do not despair yet. The child lives, and it is she that the prophecy speaks of. She is the one who will bring our kind to justice." Replied Alba. She, Renali, and a third, Otilde, were the last Sirens left in the world. They were Ancients, the first three daughters of the Moon Lord and the Lady of the Ocean. Their immortality depended on the continuation of the Siren race, and without Ilia to instruct her earth-bound daughter, they would die with the last warm-blooded sirenchild.  
  
Renali nodded mutely and returned to the circle.  
  
"When the time comes, she will be ready. She is born with the knowledge of Who and What she is, and her dreams will tell her our history and sorrow." Alba said, eyes trained forward, watching the lights flicker and die in the Novara estate.  
  
"But shouldn't we-"  
  
"No, Renali. You know we cannot contact her. Not yet. She'll learn to sing with her first mooncycle, and then we can speak to her in a way she will understand. For now, the man's grief is still to near. We can only hope that his love for Ilia will foster a deeper care for his daughter."  
  
Renali and Otilde nodded, and all was silent for time out of mind.  
  
And then, one by one, the Sirens turned their faces to the moonless sky. The starlight softly kissed each face darkly etched in terrible loveliness, coaxing first one, and then another, until finally the trio lifted their voices and sang to the night.  
  
You have heard this song before, in the moment preceeding a thunderstorm, or the instant between sleep and dreaming. It rings beneath the sound of lovemaking and threads its way inside the tears you cry at a loved one's funeral. It is sweet and sustained, it is bitter, unkind and harsh. But above all, beyond every shadow of human emotion and frailty, the mourning song of a Siren is perfectly and hauntingly beautiful.  
  
That night, the wistful denizens of Shallycob kept their windows open and let the strangely musical breeze dance unheeded inside their houses. Children slept soundly, with dreamless abandon, husbands professed love with an ardor that had lain dormant for years.  
  
Every window was open, and every man knew peace.  
  
Every man except Icarus Novara. 


	6. Growing

Song of the Siren : Growing  
  
Author's note : For some reason, I am completely retarded when it comes to numbering chapters. Just ignore me. I also have a serious resentment at FF.net for being so darn slow.  
  
// Growing //  
  
Over the years, Icarus' involvement in Iphany's life was as scant as possible. He was not there when she sat up for the first time, or took her first step, or spoke her first word. (Mine!) Instead he was often abroad, rebuilding his reputation as an affable member of the wizarding world. People seemed to know better than to ask about his widowing, and even fewer had any knowledge of the fact that he had a child. He would visit her now and again, but with every passing year she looked more and more like her flawless mother and he could not bear the sight of her face.  
  
When he was home, he was often shut up in his study. Sometimes Iphany could hear voices from within, low and dangerous and intriguing. She was never allowed inside when Papa had guests. But she yearned to see other people, and would sometimes stand outside the door for hours on end, listening to the positively human hum of conversation.  
  
Still, Iphany was quite comfortable with her general isolation, for she had a nanny and was spoiled beyond measure. She grew as any child would, though there were certain milestones she reached that other children did not. At three, she complained of an itching behind her ears, and her nanny was shocked to find a row of tiny gills.  
  
There were secrets she did not share with nanny, however. Like how she felt at midnight on a full moon evening, when the stars spread out like ice across the sky, or the strange tunes that hummed and spun inside her head whenever she walked by the ocean. She bathed nightly in the cove, a necessary evil that, when neglected, resulted in lethargy and illness. The word Siren was in her mind before she knew how to think. She asked her father once what it meant, when he was home for longer than a moment and still enough for her to speak to him.  
  
It was the first and last time Iphany ever heard him speak of her mother. He told her that she, in fact, was a Siren, and that she possessed more latent power in her eyes than most grown witches did in their entire schooled bodies. He brought her books and she read them, learned that the touch of her fingertips on a man's skin could bring him to tears. She learned that one day she would grow to be beautiful beyond comprehension.  
  
He must have been drunk, or feeling particularly pleasant, because that evening he also showed her the amulet her mother had given him on the first day they met. Icarus told her that the gem protected him from the full force of her mother's touch, but would not elaborate on its origin.  
  
Iphany often wondered if she was the last Siren left in the world, for she got hold of a few books from Shallycob that spoke of the mass murder of hundreds of Sirens in the eighteenth century. This was a lonesome thought, and she tried not to give it much consideration.  
  
Iphany's life itself was lonesome, but she knew nothing else. She spent her childhood much as her father had his own adult life; alone and flitting from room to room, learning every carving and crevice of the Novara estate. Then one evening, a few months after her eleventh birthday, something very strange and terrible happened.  
  
She had been feeling quite odd the entire afternoon, and skipped dinner to wade early in the cove. The sun was just touching the wide blue mouth of the ocean when it began - a soft kind of tickling in the back of her throat. Like she needed to cough. So she did, hacking dryly as she lolled in the waist-deep water. That didn't seem to help, and now the feeling was on her tongue as well. As the sky grew dark to match the shade of her hair, the moon appeared, fresh and luscious as it reflected in the water. It was full tonight, and the full moon always made Iphany feel particularly giddy, so she took a deep breath and turned to float on her back.  
  
The last few months had been newly exciting for her. When she turned eleven, Icarus hired a tutor (female, of course, for not even male House Elves were allowed anywhere near her) and ordered that she begin her instruction in the art of Magic. The tutor, a bright, young (and absolutely pureblooded) woman by the name of Angie Ducrea, was far more interesting than Nanny had ever dreamed of being.  
  
She taught Iphany how to turn flowers into heart shaped fans, how to brew a potion that would remove warts, and how to grow a fern that produced a repellant to keep banshees at bay. So abundant was Iphany's progress that Angie found herself consulting her lesson plan for second year students just six weeks after she began teaching.  
  
In fact, that very day they had brewed a particularly difficult concoction meant to rid Iphany of a nasty headache. It had been quite successful, but now Iphany wished they had mixed something for her scratchy throat, too. Except it wasn't really -scratchy-, it was .  
  
The sun sank, the moon popped into full view over the hill, and Iphany began to sing. The funny tickling in her throat was gone, replaced by a liquid warmth that slid through her body and lit pleasantly in the center of her belly. She was filled with a sharp golden glow, a feeling that bubbled and gasped between her lips in a song she was certain she had never heard before excluding the deep green dark of her dreams.  
  
The very water around her was velvet kissing her gangly limbs, she felt languid and luxurious as she sifted across the cove, trailing the glassy surface with her fingers.  
  
She did not know how long it took for her to realize that she was not singing alone anymore. With a gradual awakening of her subconscious, she noticed that there was harmony to her high notes, a perfect blend gliding beneath the wordless tune. She turned to the mouth of the cove and saw the three Sirens, their sleek dark heads bobbing just above the water. Her eyebrows shot up and she tried to stop singing so ask to ask them who, what they were, but her voice refused to cooperate. The three strange women each smiled in turn as she glided closer to them. Iphany's high, sopranic voice was as pure and pristine as winter, and so clear that it floated easily across the water, over the hill and into the house.  
  
One of the Sirens approached her and held out a hand - come with us -  
  
"IPHANY!!" came her father's voice, shattering the spell and filling her with an abrupt, implacable fear. The Sirens froze, cast horrified glances at one another, and disappeared beneath the waves.  
  
But there presence was not the reason Icarus screamed, for he in truth could not see so far, and had only heard the sound of Iphany's voice drifting across the dunes. It was a melody so familiar that it cracked the old, scabbed pain of losing Ilia so many years before. This sort of pain was something Icarus no longer had the ability to comprehend, so it surged and fermented beneath his skin until it blackened into hot, seething rage. Iphany barely had time to react as her father reached inside his robes, unsheathed his wand and said something should could hardly hear, something like -  
  
"Crucio!"  
  
Pain - dripping from every firesoaked nerve, arching her spine and attacking her bones with greedy razored teeth. Iphany screamed and screamed and screamed, and only when her voice broke and rasped to silence did the torment abate. She struggled to the shore, her muscles tightly wound like steel chords. It took immeasurable strength just to heave her naked, shaking body to the sand where she collapsed with a shuddering sob and tried to fathom why her father would do this terrible thing.  
  
"Petrificus totalis," Icarus murmered (her body went rigid), "Accio." (She floated toward the hill.) Icarus wrapped her in his cloak and carried her to the house, grimly muttering wild things under his breath.  
  
He dumped his daughter on her bed and left her for the House Elves to attend.  
  
Iphany's first coherent though was one of awful betrayal. She shivered pathetically beneath the silk comforter, tears streaking her face and pooling beneath her cheek to stain the pillow. She knew in some unreachable corner of her soul that the Sirens she had seen were her kin. They had looked upon her so kindly and beckoned her with pale white arms and sugary voices. She'd felt wanted in that single, shining instant.  
  
And the feeling of singing - she reflected on it now and had no name for the bliss beneath the moonlight, but knew that it was a thing she could no longer live without.  
  
After some time of dreamless concluding, Iphany realized that it was the singing itself that so incensed her father. If the sea-Sirens had known her song and her mother was one of them, that mean that at some point he must have heard her mother sing the same tune. Was the memory of her death still fresh after all these years? She shuddered to think of what he would do if he caught her singing again, but she simply could not imagine a night without it after this first taste of peace.  
  
Giving voice to a pained sigh that rattled her still-sore ribs, Iphany drifted, shakily, into a weakly suspended half-sleep.  
  
And for the first time, she dreamed of her mother. 


	7. Visions

Song of the Siren : Vision  
  
A/N: Yeah. Is anyone reading this? Hmm. Thanks to Alira and Reagan and Becca for great reviews.  
  
// Visions //  
  
"Iphany." Gentler than silk, the voice fraught in lilies curled around Iphany's ears and roused her tenderly, a waking like sunrise, a slow careful bloom into sight and sound. The woman in the chair next to her bed wore her sad smile like an ill-fitting robe; the expression seemed out numbered by the stars in her wide, watery green eyes.  
  
"Mother?" Iphany rose to her elbows, pleasantly surprised to find that all traces of pain had vanished. Ilia nodded and reached out a hand to stroke her daughter's finely sculpted cheekbone, the pads of her fingers bridging over shell thin eyelids and pursed, trembling lips. "This is a dream?" Iphany asked.  
  
"Yes. But don't discount it so quickly, for I have many important things to tell you." Ilia replied, sliding to sit on the bed with her child and gathering the leggy adolescent into her arms. Iphany was silent, skirting more tears at the haunting familiarity of her mother's voice, face, and scent.  
  
" I wish-"  
  
"So do I, my darling, but it was not meant to be. Now listen closely, you know we Sirens don't sleep long and our time together is short." Ilia replied, pulling back so that Iphany could look into her eyes. She took a deep breath, as though what she was about to say needed strength and steadiness to support it.  
  
"In some years time, your father will send you away. I'm not sure where, or why, or with whom, but it is going to happen. I want you to be prepared for this. You will be given a task, and you must do your best to fill it exactly as you are told."  
  
"What must I do, Mother?" Iphany asked, feeling a strange, fleeting bolt of destiny that shadowed her thoughts for a moment before flitting on to greater deeds.  
  
"I don't know that either, my love. Something that only a Siren can do, which means it will probably involve using your beauty and charm and powers to lure a man. That part is not important, for you will know what to do when the time comes. All of this, Iphany - all of this leads to your greatest task. You know of the slaughter, don't you?"  
  
"Yes, I've read of it. And I've had dreams before. I saw what happened. I- "  
  
"Good." Ilia replied, interrupting, her tone more hurried now. She was beginning to look grayer, insubstantial, as though her blood was fading and her skin dissolving into the air. "You're going to be the one who sets all of those deaths right, Iphany. In time you will meet a man, the most powerful of all human men. And you will bring him to the three Sirens you saw in the sea today. I know it does not make sense now, but the path will be provided, and you must only be brave enough to follow it." Ilia finished, her body thinning and transparent, no longer pillowed and warm for Iphany to nestle against.  
  
"I'll try, Mother. I'll do what I can." She said solemnly, holding back the urge to beg and scream for her mother not to leave her again.  
  
"I know you will. And Iphany, please remember this, for I know the chances will be plenty. Do not fall in love. Love destroys us, it destroys the men we chose, and it will be your ruin if you allow yourself to be weak. Never, ever give your heart away." By this time she was nothing but a voice, and Iphany strained to hear the last of her words. The advice burrowed into her heart and grew, spreading like an infection. She felt something inside of her shudder and die, but she could not christen the emotion.  
  
"Wait, I - ''  
  
"Wake now, darling, and face the day."  
  
Iphany's eyes fluttered, shallow green still half hazed with sleep. Blat, the House Elf, jumped immediately from her hiding space behind the dresser as soon as the saw her mistress waking. The jittery thing snapped her fingers and produced a tray lightly laden with breakfast. Iphany struggled to sit, shaking her head blearily at the prospect of food. Blat opened her mouth to protest, but one stern look from the girl sent her squealing under the bed.  
  
Iphany felt changed. There was something different that sizzled faintly beneath her skin, a kind of burning she could not account for. The memory of her father's curse was not painful as it should have been, but rather more like a collection of photographs to which she felt no actual connection. She rose from the immense bed, untangling her legs from the covers and planting bare feet on the cool hardwood floor. The shadow of her reflection danced in the window as she approached.  
  
Outside, the sand gleamed a fierce bone white, scudded here and there by dry scrubs of pathetic sea-grasses. The sun glimmered a rich white gold on the water, a lonely sailor amidst the mirrored sea of a cloudless blue sky. It was, by the books, a perfect day. But Iphany sneered at the brightness, reaching up with both hands to wrench the curtains shut.  
  
"Blat." She said curtly, whirling to face the bed. A pair of large green eyes appeared from beneath the dust ruffle, followed by the comically ugly face and rag-clad body.  
  
"Yes! Mistress Iphany Novara, what can I do for you?" Blat exclaimed, hopping excitedly from one foot to the other at the prospect of pleasing her Mistress.  
  
"You round up all the Elves in this house and draw the curtains. If my father has any objections, tell him-"  
  
"Master Novara has left, Mistress Iphany. He has gone away this morning." Blat interjected, slapping a hand over her mouth the instant she was done speaking, fearing her interruption would merit some kind of reprimand. Iphany simply looked pensive and a touch relieved. She glanced at the grandfather clock on the wall. Angie would Apparate in the study in less than an hour for her lessons.  
  
"Fine, then. Get out of here and do what I said." Iphany responded crossly, raising her nightdress over her head and discarding it on the floor. As she passed the mirror in her trek towards the bathroom, she paused for a moment. Her thin, ribby body wasn't much to look at, just beginning to bud into womanhood and showing the first signs of filling out. Her deep black hair was already to the middle of her back, shining and lustrous even in the lightless room. Iphany regarded herself with detached interest, smoothing her hands over her flat stomach and rounding hips. When she glanced past her reflection, she saw Blat stil standing hesitantly in the doorway.  
  
"Out!" Iphany barked, pointing viciously towards the door. Blat squealed and skittered out, and Iphany pattered into the lavatory to bathe.  
  
- - -  
  
Angie had never seen her charge so volatile. Iphany snapped and sneered at her every gentle prodding, refusing to answer any question regarding her newfound apathy. They'd always gotten along, keeping up a mild repartee that seemed to maintain Iphany's generally pleasant nature. The only time Angie ever had any trouble with her before was when the sirenchild didn't get her way.  
  
They plowed through the day's lesson as quickly as they were wont to, for apparently Iphany's attitude did not apply to her studies. In fact, she seemed even more devoted to the task of learning than usual, forgoing lunch to continue studying far in to the afternoon. The only time she asked Angie anything out of the ordinary was near five, just as she was getting ready to leave.  
  
"Angie. What is Crucio?" She asked, flipping idly through a volume on Transfiguration as Angie readied herself to leave for the evening.  
  
"My goodness, Iphany! Where did you hear of that?" Angie asked, pausing in the middle of shoving her books and supplies back into a bag. She studied the beautiful little girl with serious brown eyes, shoving her glasses back up on her nose with one finger. It occurred to her then, for the first time, that Iphany was really beginning to grow up. Her round, childish face was thinning, hinting at the sleek structure of cheekbone and fine arch of brow that would be revealed with the passage of a few short years. Angie felt a stab of sorrow so sudden and poignant that she almost felt the hot rush of tears. Iphany looked up from her book, startled by the woman's reaction.  
  
"It doesn't matter. What is it?" She demanded impatiently, marking her place in the book with a finger. Angie chewed thoughtfully on her lower lip before responding, as if the answer required a great deal of preparation.  
  
"Crucio is the verbal incantation of the Cruciatus curse. It's one of the three Unforgivable curses. It causes the victim pain beyond imagining, and invoking its use once will earn you a life sentence in Azkaban. Where on earth did you -" She trailed off, taking in Iphany's stony expression and suddenly understanding.  
  
"That's enough. You can go now. I'll see you tomorrow." Iphany interrupted coolly, now appearing to be absorbed in her reading again. Angie opened her mouth as if to say something else, and then decided against it. She finished packing her books, fighting back the youthfully maternal urge that tried to propel her to comfort the girl.  
  
Iphany did not look up until she heard the soft - pop - of Disapparation. She closed the book, absently folding the page back to mark her last read paragraph. An interesting thought tiptoed into the back of her brain, one that would have been completely out of character the evening before. Yet the new, vast stretch of indifference that had matured in her mind demanded she nourish this new curiosity, so she placed the book on the side table and rose from the large green wingbacked chair.  
  
"Blat!" She shouted, and within a moment the nervous Elf appeared in front of her, twisting her dirty rags in both trembling hands. Iphany unsheathed her swishy yew wand and pointed it at the creature.  
  
"Crucio." She muttered, and Blat let out a terrible shriek before collapsing on the rug. She writhed pathetically for several moments as Iphany looked on in silence. She broke the curse with a flick of the wand after the screaming grew too strident for her ears.  
  
The shivering House Elf remained unattended on the floor as her Mistress slipped out into the hall, intent on seeing what was on about dinner.  
  
Iphany did not know that it was impossible, or close to it, for a child of her age to be able to successfully cast the Cruciatus curse. The power required to fuel the invocation was one that only the most trained (and corrupted) wizards had the ability to expend.  
  
But most wizards are not made of the same stuff that Iphany Novara was. And perhaps if her father had known she possessed such an aptitude for magic, her destiny would have been different. As it were, his Lord had yet to rise again, and all he cared for was keeping his only daughter as far away and broken as possible.  
  
But a Siren cannot be broken. She can only be distorted. - - -  
  
"This is not the way it is supposed to be, Alba!" The Siren Renali seethed, lowering the large pearl orb and letting it drift back to the ocean floor. She could just see the Novara house over the hill, but the distance and obstruction of sand did not hinder her view, for Sirens have ways of observing those they love that are undetectable to the eyes of men.  
  
"She had no other choice, Renali. It is unfortunate, but not irreversible. Ilia knew what she was doing. I trust her, even in Spirit. The freeze on Iphany's heart is not unbreakable, you know Ilia would not make it so. She is protecting her daughter, our little sister, from the same pain that traps her own soul even in death. Everything will work out. For now, this is best." Alba responded, though even she was doubtful.  
  
"I know, but the poor darling. She'll never even - after all, she did like that female who teaches her." Renali replied, turning so that she faced her sister. "I suppose you are right, though. After what her father did - do you suppose we'll ever be able to see her again? I do not want to take the risk...."  
  
"We'll wait until she is older and better able to conceal herself and her intentions. My only fear.." Alba almost did not speak it, but the look in Renali's eyes told her that she felt the same. "Is that he will continue to hurt her. I know that if it ever seems she is in real danger, we will take her and bring her back to us. I would rather have our race die and our debtors go unpunished than to see her suffer."  
  
They both seemed placated by this thought, though it was a long time before either could swim far from the cove. 


	8. Offering

Song of the Siren : Offering  
  
A/N : Ahh, reviews. Love them. More? Yes, please. I bet you guys are wondering where Lucius is - well, don't worry. He's coming. Give me time. (Ahem, Reagan.) Oh wait, I actually do have something to say. Before you tell me that I suck and that ellipses only have three periods, let me tell you that Microsoft word does something weird and shortens all my three-dot ellipses into single periods when I load the fic onto the site. So, there. Think not ill of me, my friends.  
  
// Offering //  
  
Time passed, as it does, and things in the Novara household operated under the mutable vestige of normality. Iphany grew more beautiful by the moment and Icarus continued to remain as absent as was humanly possible, especially at night, when he knew she would be about in the cove. He'd had the small saltwater sea-feeding pond dammed just a week after Iphany first mooncycle, something she noticed but did not feel inclined to comment upon.  
  
For she found happiness only in her nightly swimming, when she could throw her voice to the sky and sing down the moon, absorbing the hot, electric rush the melody invoked. Icarus had not made any moves to indicate that he meant to punish her again for her nature, as his routine was to disappear entirely between the hours of eight and midnight. What Iphany found most bitterly amusing was the fact that her father insisted they dine together at least once monthly. This was always a very terse, compulsory affair, conversation usually consisting of Icarus bombarding Iphany with questions regarding her schoolwork. Her progress was astounding, but Icarus did not make it a point to commend her for being so prodigious. Not that it would have mattered either way to Iphany, for she was perfectly amenable to lauding her own achievements, however monumental or mundane each proved to be.  
  
One particular evening, Iphany's fourteenth birthday in fact, turned out to be largely more interesting than most. They were seated at the pretentious fifty seat table in the huge, echoing dining hall. Iphany never much liked this room; a grand portrait of her mother hung over the mantleplace and seemed to be watching them as they ate. Icarus was busy explaining the importance of properly stored Phoenix tears, for Iphany had apparently botched a question on her O.W.Ls regarding the care of expendable ingredients.  
  
Iphany nodded politely as she forked her grilled tilapia, half listening to her father's tirade and half contemplating the storm clouds gathering just outside the grand bay picture window. Far in the distance, lightning struck the sea, limning the sky in sepia tones augmented by the reflection of the water against the cloud. Iphany shivered, and then glanced at her father and gasped.  
  
Icarus was making a terrible face, his lips peeled back in agony as he clutched frantically at his forearm. Iphany started, rising from the table.  
  
"Father, what.." She trailed off as Icarus held up a hand to silence her, his black eyes watery with pain. His breath came in heavy, ragged gasps. A movement swift as the sudden curtain of rain slicing against the window and he was up, sweeping behind the table and toward the door.  
  
"He's returned." Icarus whispered, so low that she could hardly hear him. He turned back to her, mouth curled in a sudden half smile, as though he'd remembered something. Somewhere between rising and striding toward the door, he had produced his wand and was now raising it in her direction. Iphany froze - what had she done this time?! But the dreadful curse never came, instead it was something entirely different.  
  
"Imago memor!" He hissed, and a thin white beam of light shot from the wand's tip. It surrounded her, blinding her for a moment before dissipating into a thousand golden motes of light. Iphany couldn't think of what to say; she certainly knew the "who" to which he referred. Icarus had not been secretive about his involvement with the Death Eaters or his devotion to Lord Voldemort., and had always told her that one day the Dark Lord would return and reward him for his faith. Iphany had no idea what her father's faith consisted of, but somehow she knew it could not be terribly pleasant. She had come across her father's name in several history books, and the accounts of his betrayals, tortures and kidnappings did not surprise her in the least.  
  
Once the spell had been cast, Icarus re-pocketed his wand and Disapparated, leaving Iphany to draw her own conclusions. Somewhat, but not entirely ruffled by the incident, she returned to her place at the dinner table and continued eating her supper. The rain, or rather, the lightning, would hinder her evening swim. She hoped the storm would abate before true darkness set in, otherwise she'd be rather ill the next day.  
  
She finished her dinner in comparative silence, her thoughts undermined by the howling wind and heavy pelt of rain.  
  
...  
  
Lord Voldemort was not pleased. For the third time, Harry Potter - the child!! - eluded death, this time surrounded by over two dozen of Voldemort's most loyal and competent servants. He'd even actually managed to stun two of them as he made a mad roll and dash for the Triwizard cup that would send him back to safety at Hogwarts. Avery and Nott lay in a disoriented heap, both slumped harmlessly against a large granite sculpture. Voldemort cast the Cruciatus on both of them until his anger was somewhat spent.  
  
Then he ordered them - all of them - to get out of his sight. Had it been so long that they had forgotten how to truly obey, to truly serve? What a disastrously sobering thought. If that were the case, what was he to do when the true tasks began? He only half noticed as the remaining Death Eaters disappeared around him, leaving him alone with Nagini in the center of the graveyard.  
  
At least, he thought he was alone. One hooded figure remained, and was now slowly approaching the Dark Lord.  
  
"What did I say? I do not want to see any of you, you disgust me, I-"  
  
"Please, my Master, allow me a moment to speak with you. I have an offer I do not think you want to refuse." Came Icarus Novara's voice from beneath the hood. He lifted the black fabric and mask and faced his Lord and Master, eyes averted in reverence and respect.  
  
"Icarus. You were another who remained loyal, even if it was in secret and silence. You have one minute, for my patience is already thin." Voldemort snapped, glaring at Icarus with eyes half-slitted and as red as new blood.  
  
"As you know, my most honorable Master, I took a wife not long after your..she was a Siren, a full blooded one by the name of Ilia. She gave me a daughter not nine months after we wed, and died in childbirth. My daughter, Iphany." As he spoke, he withdrew his wand and directed it at the ground. "Imago phynai!"  
  
Something blue and insubstantial poured from the wand, rising, swirling and dancing to form a slightly shadowy image of Iphany, as she had stood in the dining room.  
  
"I think she would be a valuable asset to our cause, my Lord. I propose that we send her to Hogwarts in a year or so and allow her to take care of Potter. She could bring him to us, you see. And then..after that.." Icarus paused for a moment, watching Lord Voldemort take in the sight of the young woman.  
  
"After that, I can have her?" Voldemort asked, his voice slightly choked by something entirely different than anger. Icarus hid a smile; he had forgotten what the first sight of a Siren did to a man, even one as hardened as his Master.  
  
"If it pleases you, my Lord. She would be..Sirens are quite passionate, Master." He let that comment settle in, offering silence to allow Lord Voldemort a chance to peruse the life-sized image.  
  
"And what would you ask in return?" He demanded suspiciously, still unwilling to take his eyes off the girl. As alluring as the idea was, the Dark Lord was not stupid. He knew that people of this ilk did not offer daughters in return for nothing.  
  
"Nothing, my Lord, save your trust, perhaps." Icarus replied idly, snapping his wand and dispelling the reflection. Lord Voldemort glared up at him as the girl disappeared.  
  
"My trust, only? Or my trust and a position of power when we win?" He asked blatantly, not in the mood for these slippery propositions and the thinly veiled meaning to which every statement bore witness.  
  
"Whatever you are willing to give me, Master. I am but your servant." Icarus replied.  
  
Voldemort did not need to think on it long before producing an answer.  
  
"Then we have an understanding, Icarus. I accept your offer. We will send your daughter to Hogwarts in two year's time, giving that we are unable to make sufficient progress in acquiring young Mister Potter again. And when she brings him to me.."  
  
"She will be yours, my Lord, body and soul. I promise it." Icarus responded, bowing repeatedly as he backed away and then Disapparated. 


	9. Reprieve

Song of the Siren : Reprieve  
  
A/N: Thanks to Reagan for being my constant muse and for giving me serious business good ideas for this fic. Love you, Bea!  
  
Another chapter-ette, folks. Expect a full chapter this evening.  
  
// Reprieve //  
  
Some months later.  
  
Amanda Thierry was late. This would not have been so bad if the event to which she was tardy was anything other than Great-great Aunt Ermina's ninety fifth birthday celebration. Aunt Ermina would no doubt call her out for being the last to arrive and make her look foolish in front of half of the town. Ermina was Shallycob's eldest citizen, which meant that she had the right to say whatever she damn well pleased to whomever she damn well pleased. Amanda knew she was supposed to be respectful and reverent to the town matriarch, but sometimes she wondered why the old biddy couldn't just kick the bucket and be done with it.  
  
She had just turned on to Breadalbane street when she broke into a half- jog, her shadow stretched long and chasing her from streetlamp to streetlamp. It was a warmish, almost summery evening, and the stars winked sleepily above her in a deepening black sky.  
  
Amanda wasn't paying much attention to her surroundings, as her initial and most prevalent thought was to get to the party as quickly as possible. Several blocks ahead she would see the orange glow of a bonfire burning in Ermina's back yard. Faint sounds of revelry reached her ears, and she could not help a smile. Perhaps -  
  
And then - right in front of her!-there was a very tall man swathed in gray shadow. Amanda let out an ungainly screech and skidded to a halt.  
  
There was a song inside Icarus' head, a low, evocative refrain that unfurled a sonorous bloom behind his eyes. He could not escape it, find it, hold on to it long enough to make it stop. Sometimes it was silent of its own accord, a distant memory, and in those times he found himself wishing fervently for a single note to break the calm.  
  
But when the wordless melody played in full force, it made blood roar in his ears and rush as hotly as fire. Madness precluded each verse, rising higher and higher until it boiled into rage and -  
  
"Hullo." Amanda said, winded from her run and miffed at the sudden startling. The man, who was dressed rather oddly (a cape? In April?? ) shifted at the sound of her voice. He stepped forward into the light, and she had two thoughts in rapid succession.  
  
That he was entirely too handsome to be real, and That the look in his eyes was nothing short of terrifying.  
  
She stumbled back immediately, repulsed by the sight of those eyes, black and blameless as two bits of smudgy coal and completely devoid of anything resembling humanity.  
  
Amanda did not register that he had reached inside the folds of his cloak and had barely taked two dashing steps down the street when she heard him mutter a word that was not a word, cru-  
  
Icarus watched as the girl pitched forward onto her knees, mouth agape in dry, noiseless screams as the Cruciatus fell upon her body. He wielded his wand lightly, refreshing the curse with wristsnaps as though he were cracking a whip.  
  
And the song grew louder, a chorus of voices in his ears, so deafening that he did not even hear himself laughing.  
  
Nor did he comprehend dragging the girl into the narrow place between two houses - ripping viciously at her blouse and shirt - forcing her thighs apart -  
  
Amanda Thierry did not attend her Great-great Aunt Ermina's birthday party. Everyone wondered at her absence until around ten in the evening, when the party's first early departure came screaming back to the company.  
  
The girl's body, half-naked and bruised, lay quietly in the hand-painted median of Breadalbane street. Her eyes were open, mouth unhinged in an expression of the sheerest pain and unnamed terror.  
  
The people of Shallycob sobbed, wept, and screamed their grief to the stars -  
  
-- While some miles away, Icarus Novara was again blessed with the sweet reprieve of silence. 


	10. Inconsequential

Song of the Siren : Inconsequential  
  
A/N : Some chode in an AOL chatroom tried to tell me Lord Voldemort was asexual. Excuse me, if you are male, not a vampire, and have a penis, you are not asexual. Crazy teenagers.  
  
And on another note, not than I'm ungrateful, but let's get creative with the reviews. I want criticism, praise, suggestions, questions, anything! Please, ask!  
  
::climbs off soapbox::  
  
// Inconsequential //  
  
Amanda's funeral was three days later, the service held at Tobermory cemetery overlooking the ocean. The entire village of Shallycob ( all of four hundred and six people ) turned out to see her buried. The wind was up, gusting intermittently through the black clad crowd, ruffling skirts and suit tails with a mournful sound, like weakly beating wings.  
  
Off to one side, separated from the bunch, was a pair of men that no-one had ever seen before. They went unnoticed all the same, for everyone was too ensconced in his or her own grief to give attention to strangers.  
  
Now, to look at the strangers from a distance would yield no suspicion. They were appropriately garbed (colorwise), but upon closer inspection certain discrepancies became painfully obvious.  
  
The shorter of the two sported a suit that must have been at least three sizes too small. The cuffs of the jacket hung two inches above his wrists and the hems of the pant legs were so high that his bright green socks were glaringly visible.  
  
The other man looked even stranger. His pinstripe suit appeared to have been lifted directly from the 1940's American swing scene, complete with vibrant checked suspenders and a smart looking derby hat.  
  
Despite their ridiculous attire, both men looked extremely morose and troubled. After the funeral was over, they cautiously approached a baffled straggler to inquire on the death of Miss Thierry. It did not take long for them to realize that their suspicions were correct, and that the only way this young woman's death could be explain was by magic.  
  
No matter how traumatic the experience must have been, there was no plausible reason why Amanda Thierry should be dead. There'd been no wounds, save the ones to her virtue. She had suffered the Avada Kedavra, the description of her condition upon discovery was classic of the curse.  
  
The men, who were in fact investigators from the International Ministry of Magic, knew of only one wizard in Shallycob. And this knowledge was exactly what they needed to finally put Icarus Novara away for the rest of his miserable life.  
  
. . .  
  
Another birthday, Iphany thought grimly as she wandered down the vastly echoing hallway. Portraits of the past lords over the Novara Estate watched her solemnly from their gilded frames, lining the walls and surrounding her on either side with likenesses to her father's heavy, handsome face.  
  
She was just passing the study when she heard him call from within.  
  
"Iphany," he said, his voice drifting from behind the heavy oaken door. "Come in here, please."  
  
Iphany obeyed, albeit hesitantly. She had never been allowed inside the library while he was there, because he was almost always entertaining guests that she was forbidden to see.  
  
Icarus was sitting by the fire, a decanter of amber liquid hovering in mid air just to his left. He nodded as she entered, gesturing at the chair opposite his own. Iphany sat, wary of the tranquil expression on his face and the ease with which he smiled at her. His tone was businesslike, but not in keeping with its usual harshness. He was, Iphany finally concluded, completely smashed.  
  
"We were supposed to wait another year, but things are not progressing as they should." He began, plucking the snifter from the air and taking a bubbly pull. The level of the liquid, however, remained unchanged. Iphany frowned, confused, and she began to speak, but Icarus silenced her with a look that was effective even when give under the hazy veil of drunkenness.  
  
"You're going to finish out your schooling at Hogwarts. My Lord has appointed you a task - you will snare young Harry Potter with your wiles and beauty. And then when the time is right, you will deliver him to us." Another long pull from the brandy, a moment of quiet which allowed an astonished Iphany to absorb this information. She remembered her mother's dream words and felt an immediate rush of providence. Finally, it was coming to pass. And to leave the manor - to see other people! Her heart pounded with a thrill she had not known since the night her father tortured her those five years before.  
  
Icarus shifted, and for the first time she noticed that the moon shaped charm around his neck appeared to be a third of its original size. It was as though slices had been carved from inside the curving center until naught but a sliver remained to dangle on the chain. This was curious, not to mention upsetting, but Iphany did not have the time to question it as her father continued.  
  
"After you have succeeded, you will be given to Lord Voldemort. He wishes to make you his own and allow you to bear him children so his legacy will continue in the next era." Icarus spoke this as easily as if it were tea- time small talk, ignoring the growing expression of horror and disgust on Iphany's face. He motioned to the window, where from the sill hung six tiny slices of her mother's necklace, each suspended from a thin gold chain.  
  
"For your male teachers, in case you happen to bump into one of them in the hall. Wouldn't want old Severus lusting after you, now would we?" He dissolved into a fit of wild laughter, some dangerous spark gleaming in his eyes. "Of course, they all will anyway, won't they? Though I'm thrilled that he agreed, Dumbledore is a fool. He'll lose half his staff over you, they'll all feel so terribly guilty for pining over a child. He'll."  
  
In the farthest, cobwebbed corners of Icarus' mind, the song roused. Whispering, always whispering, then a low hum, a quiet tune - louder, louder -  
  
"Father?" Iphany asked testingly, for Icarus had trailed off and was now gripping the arms of his chair so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. His head snapped up and he glared at her, a horrible hunger in his eyes.  
  
(and louder, until the voices were screaming the melody, his head felt as though it would burst)  
  
"Father, are you alright?"  
  
(in the moonlight, first meeting, her voice, eyes in the dark. Singing. Bloody birthbed, Iphany's first throaty cries)  
  
Iphany rose in alarm, for now Icarus had lifted himself out of the chair and was approaching her -  
  
(passion, electric touch a kiss like fire, the music soared and his ears, they must be bleeding, drums popped and)  
  
Iphany screamed as he father descended on her and pinned her back in the chair. He twisted both arms painfully above her head with one hand and began rending her robe with the other, grunting wordless entreaties, his face contorted into a mask of anguish. Iphany sobbed thickly, kicked uselessly with her legs, knees seeking purchase on any plane of vulnerable flesh because she knew what he was going to do, knew it, felt it in her gut and in the terrible way he was leering at her nearly naked body - her father, her -  
  
"Stupefy!!" Came a voice from nowhere, and suddenly the chamber was flooded with light. Icarus collapsed on top of his daughter, limply releasing her arms and sliding to the ground with a groan. Iphany gasped and clutched at the remains of her robes, covering herself as best she could.  
  
Because the room was filled with wizards and witches, all wearing matching robes of deep bottle green. The one who had stunned her father came rushing forward and seized Icarus by the back of his robe, dragging him away and out into the center of the room. One of the others, a female, removed her outer robe and whisked it on to the half-naked Siren. Iphany felt a pair of arms lifting her from the chair, forcing her to sit up. The woman shielded her from the view of the other wizards, whispering things Iphany could not hear. Something cool and faintly sweet touched her lips, and she knew no more.  
  
. . .  
  
"Iphany?"  
  
The voice came as if from underwater, slowly pricking her conscience like a lazy beam of sunlight straining to reach the ocean floor. She shook her head - no, I don't want to wake up - and then heard the voice again, more insistent this time.  
  
"No." Iphany said aloud, rolling over obstinately, pressing her face to the cool pillow. Everything was fine, if they'd just -  
  
She shrieked when she felt the hand on her shoulder, thrashing wildly and scrambling to the far corner of the bed. She glanced around wildly, her hands half covering her face. Her own, familiar bedroom was a sight for sore eyes, so she ventured a further peek, pulling her fingers apart to see more.  
  
A calm, pleasant faced older woman sat at her bedside. Iphany started, glaring at the woman with eyes widened in shock. The woman smiled back, but it was not a pleasant smile, nor was it cruel. Iphany struggled to find her voice, still crouching on the far corner of the bed, out of the woman's reach. She wore the same green as the people she had seen before in the study, the out-of-nowhere gaggle of wizards and witches that had come to her rescue in such a timely manner.  
  
"We're Aurors, Iphany. Your father used to be one of us." The woman began, and her voice held the strong lilt of an accent Iphany had never heard before. Aurors - she knew what they were, people who hunted and captured dark wizards. But -  
  
"Your father tortured, raped and murdered a nineteen year old Muggle from the village. I'm assuming he was about to do the same to you when we arrived."  
  
Rape. The word was ugly and violent in her mind, and Iphany shook her head to clear it.  
  
"Why did you...how did you know it was him?" She finally asked. Her voice was rough and raw from screaming. The woman nodded, as if she had been expecting this question.  
  
"We've been tracing your father for the past decade, Iphany. We think he is responsible for a very long list of Muggle deaths." The woman (whose name, by the by, was Sapir McArthurs) replied, edging carefully towards the bed.  
  
"And where is he now?" Iphany inquired, no longer shaken from her sudden awakening. Sapir was amazed that the achingly lovely young woman had re- assembled her face into a mask of unflappable calm.  
  
"On his way to Azkaban, where he will wait until he goes on trial. But I am telling you now, Iphany, there is no way on this earth that he will be set free. The evidence is against him on too many fronts." Sapir slid to sit on the bed, motioning for the girl to come closer. Iphany obliged, not to seek comfort but to placate the woman who seemed so intent on coddling her. She regarded the older witch with deadpan eyes, an expression that was both unnerving and terribly sad at the same time. What the child must have gone through.  
  
"What will happen to me?" Iphany asked, interrupting Sapir's musings. A frown crossed the witch's plain brown face.  
  
"Well, that is complicated. In the end, it is up to you. We know you were slated to matriculate at Hogwarts in the fall, but that's a good four months from now. You cannot remain here by yourself. Although we aren't too keen on complying, it is written in your father's will that your Godparents are Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. Now...we can offer you a home at the Centre for Displaced Young Witches and Wizards-"  
  
"I'd rather stay with the Malfoys, thank you. I do not wish to go to some filthy excuse for an orphanage and be around mudbloods and the like. I know I won't have a choice at Hogwarts, but I do have one now." Iphany interjected, venom in her voice and a sneer curling her upper lip. Sapir looked taken aback; both of her parents were Muggles. Her compassion for the beautiful young creature had cooled considerably in that moment - how dare she be so ungrateful! Rising from the bed, Sapir dusted her clean hands surreptitiously on her robes and looked down on the sirenchild. Yes, she'd fit right in with those awful, snobbish Purebloods.  
  
She left the girl there, departing only after giving her an order to pack whatever she needed and be prepared to leave the following morning.  
  
There was still an Auror stationed at her house that night when Iphany slipped from her bedroom and began gathering her belongings. She chanced the library as an afterthought; sure enough, the shards of her mother's necklace still dangled from the windowsill. She collected the baubles and pocketed them, but not before selecting one and summoning her father's owl, Diablo. She could only assume that everything would be in order for her departure, but she was fairly certain the Aurors didn't know what to do with these. The solid black owl rested patiently on Iphany's shoulder while she drew out a small parchment envelope from her father's desk and slipped the single bit of jewelry inside. On a note, she scrawled -  
  
"Wear this always - I.N."  
  
It didn't matter if he thought it from her father, she had a fairly good idea that he knew of her, of her power and her nature. Certainly this possibility had been discussed; obviously Malfoy must know something about her if he had agreed to be her Godfather.  
  
Diablo took flight with the envelope looped around his leg, disappearing quickly against the ink jet sky.  
  
Iphany did this and that for the remainder of the night, collecting clothing and books and the like to be piled outside her door for the porter to carry. She thought little on what her father had said. It was inconsequential; she knew what her destiny was and knew that this was simply a very small bump in the proverbial road. She would tough out her summer with the Malfoys, go to Hogwarts, fulfill her task and bring this Harry Potter to Lord Voldemort. For now she was quite sure that he was the man her mother had spoke of, the man she was to bring to the Sirens so they could exact their revenge.  
  
It would be simple, easy, even. Iphany had so much stock in her abilities that she forgot the very blazing truth of her situation. She had absolutely no idea how to interact with men other than her father. She knew she was alluring, irresistible even. But the degree to which this gift extended was still unknown to her, as it had never been tested on anyone.  
  
As if it hadn't done so enough already, Iphany Novara's life was about to take a turn she could have never imagined. 


	11. Alteration

Song of the Siren : Alteration  
  
A/N : Repeated viewings of CoS sparked me to be so darn prolific lately. Blame it on Lucius, and his ungodly hotness.  
  
For the questions (thank you!!) Iphany just turned sixteen. She is entering Hogwarts at what would be Harry & Co's 6th year. I'm not going to provide any information as to what happened with them in their fifth year, as it honestly doesn't concern this story. Icarus spoke to Lord Voldemort just after the last events in book 4, when he escaped from the circle of Death Eaters in the cemetery.  
  
Since it's been a while, I'll say again that I own nothing except for Iphany, Ilia, Icarus and the Sirens. Please don't steal them unless you ask. : )  
  
Now.on with the fanfic!  
// Alteration //  
  
Iphany awoke grudgingly the next morning to the harsh light of the sun streaming through her windows. What moron had come in during the night and opened the curtains? She flung the covers off her legs and stomped across the room, wrenching the fabric shut. Someone had neatly stacked all of her luggage and set in on a trolley while she slept. Instead of being pleased that she didn't have to do it herself, she was enraged that someone had gotten into her room without asking.  
  
Blat emerged from beneath the bed, and at the same moment there was a knock on the door.  
  
"Miss Novara?" A feminine voice called. Iphany's eyes shot towards the door.  
  
"Come in," She responded, moving to her dresser to pull out her last set of robes not included in her packing. As the woman entered, Iphany slipped off her nightdress and stepped into the light blue silk.  
  
"You've packed everything, then?" The woman asked, slightly embarrassed that the young Siren had disrobed so readily in front of her. She averted her eyes and began fiddling with the stack of luggage.  
  
"Don't touch." Iphany snapped, whirling to face the woman, who had picked up the small parcel containing the necklaces. She dropped them at once and stepped back, a chastened look crossing her dark features. After glancing a moment in the mirror, Iphany stalked to the door, crossing her arms over her chest. It briefly occurred to her that she'd forgotten to swim the previous evening, and if the did not remember to do so before night set in today, she would be quite ailing by sunset.  
  
"I'm ready. How are we getting there?" She asked, taking the package and slipping it into her pocket.  
  
"Floo powder, my Lady. The Malfoys are expecting your arrival." The girl glanced at the fireplace, motioning weakly with one hand.  
  
"As they well should be. Alright. Let's be on with it, then." Iphany had never actually used Floo powder before, though the concept seemed rather simple. While the young witch pushed her trolley towards the hearth, Iphany barked orders at Blat, who did as she was told and squeezed in on the back of the trolley.  
  
Iphany glanced around the room for a moment, a quick sense of nostalgia and acrimony settling in her stomach. She crossed to the window once more, parted the curtains and looked out across the sea.  
  
And if she hadn't been so tired, she would have sworn she saw three dark heads watching her from just outside the ridge of sand that separated Clingman's Cove from the wide blue ocean.  
  
The moment fled, and Iphany moved to take a handful of Floo powder from the woman's outstretched goblet. She watched as the witch tossed the stuff into the hearth - flames blazed a virulent green.  
  
"Malfoy Manor!" The girl cried, pushing the luggage trolley and a frightened looking Blat into the fire. Both disappeared without so much as a whisper. Iphany stepped forward, her heart pounding with nerves. She stepped inside the hearth, tossed the fine particles to the ground, and shouted -  
  
"Malfoy Manor!"  
  
Whirling, verdant green, a rushing like wind in her ears, and suddenly Iphany felt herself pitching forward. She landed on her knees on hard, unyielding stone and cried out in pain. As she regained her senses she struggled up, finding herself face to face with not one, but two extraordinarily ugly House Elves.  
  
"Mistress Novara!" Blat cried, clapping her hands to the sides of her face. "Is you alright? You is not hurt? I will-"  
  
"Shut up." She spat, rubbing at her knee with one hand. The second House Elf was a good bit larger than Blat, but it possessed the same irritatingly nervous manner. He (she assumed) wrung his knobbly hands together and began speaking very quickly.  
  
"We is so pleased you is arriving, Mistress Iphany Novara. I is going to tell my Master you is here, he is waiting for you downstairs, Mistress Iphany. I-"  
  
"Well, go on then." Iphany interrupted, glancing about to get her initial look at the room. She'd appeared in some sort of hearthroom, though if this chamber was any indication of the rest of the house, she was certain she would feel quite comfortable here. The ceilings were shy of fifteen feet high, beamed across with richly polished oak. Green and white silk draperies hung from the rafters, a precursor to the matching décor of the rest of the room. The walls were stone, engraved so elaborately with whorls and patterns, all seemingly quite serpentine and rich with detail. Plush couches in the same shades of emerald and ivory flanked the fireplace, and on either side of the room hung huge portraits of the Lord and Lady of the Manor.  
  
While Iphany was examining the room, Blat had wandered to the large marble tea-table and was pilfering with a china bowl carved of hundreds of entwining green snakes. Iphany turned in time to see her lift the bowl from the table and inspect it with appraising, stupid eyes. She felt her Mistress' gaze upon her and looked up, gasping as she set the bowl down.  
  
But she missed by a good two inches. The bowl clattered to the floor; fortunately it did not shatter, but Iphany was enraged all the same.  
  
"Damn you, Blat!" She seethed, darting forward and seizing the Elf by the ear. She dragged the kicking thing back towards the hearth and flung her mercilessly to the ground. "If that had broken, don't think I wouldn't have snapped your fingers." Blat shuddered and whimpered, begging forgiveness of her Mistress and rising unsteadily to the floor. Iphany, who was already at her nerve's end, had half a mind to unleash another torrent of punishments. Her tirade was interrupted, however, when she heard a voice from the door.  
  
"Loathsome creatures, aren't they? But far more devoted than human servants, wouldn't you think?" Lucius Malfoy was shadowed in the doorway as he stepped inside, tall and golden and imposing beyond measure. He could only see a faint outline of the young woman cursing her House Elf, but he knew without doubt who she was. Iphany straightened; embarrassed that she had been caught at such a volatile moment. She squinted in the half darkness - why hadn't someone bothered to light a fire? That thought had little time to manifest before Lord Malfoy produced his wand and pointed it at the nearest oil lamp.  
  
"Lumos." He muttered, and one by one the lamps sputtered to light, diffusing a muted orange glow about the room. Iphany squared her shoulders as he approached, taking in his first true glimpse of Icarus Novara's Siren daughter.  
  
Had he not been somewhat prepared for the scope of her perfection, he might have done something foolish, like stutter and gape when he looked on her fully. And yet, even with Voldemort's imparted knowledge of her overwhelming beauty, Lucius found it difficult to breathe for a moment.  
  
"Excuse my outburst, Lord Malfoy. You're right, they are loathsome creature who do not know how to behave unless shown. Repeatedly." Iphany replied easily, trying to keep herself from drawing back as he came closer. She, who knew little of the purported standards by which attractiveness was judged, knew that Lucius Malfoy was an example of impeccable breeding. Finely structured features, eyes like pewter and hair almost as long as her own, shaded in tones of palest gold. She realized she was staring, and in the same moment noticed that Lord Malfoy had extended his hand to her.  
  
"A pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Miss Novara."  
  
She reached for his outstretched palm and then snatched back, glancing at his neck.  
  
"Are you wearing-"  
  
"The necklace? Yes. I received it this morning. Always, hmm?" He asked, surprised at how uncomfortably warm her small hand was when she placed it in his own. He reached inside his collar to show her the charm, and then he bent and pressed his lips to the backs of her fingers (a subdued zing traveled from flesh contact, fleeting and leaving him with the distinct impression of faraway lightning.)  
  
"If you wish to avoid any uncomfortable circumstances, then yes, that is my suggestion. I've one for Draco as well." Iphany snipped, pulling her hand back more quickly than was necessary and resisting the urge to pass a corner of her robe over the skin to dispel the perfunctory kiss. She felt small and entirely unpowerful, and it was not a pleasant sensation.  
  
"Very well, then. Shall I show you to your room?" Lucius asked, stepping back. Iphany nodded and motioned to her luggage.  
  
"I'll have it brought up to you in a moment. Follow me." He ordered, and his tone reminded Iphany very much of her father. It was terse, harsh and elegant, and it brooked no argument.  
  
She followed Lord Malfoy down a series of hallways, up several flights of stairs, all the while barely having time to observe each in passing. She could tell after only a moment that the manor was at least twice as large as the Novara Estate, and even more grand and opulent. Gold, marble, lace, satin, stone and granite flashed passed her as they walked, and Iphany was quite winded when they finally made it to the top of the last flight of stairs.  
  
"I want to thank you again on behalf of my father and myself for allowing me to stay with you." Iphany said, immensely grateful when they finally halted in front of a massive set of double doors. Lucius rounded on her, and she shrank back instinctively.  
  
"The pleasure is all mine, Miss Novara. " He replied, a twisted semismile courting his lips as he swung open the door to her bedroom. "I trust this will be adequate?" He asked mildly, nodding towards the huge king-sized bed draped in tongues of lavender and cream. The room itself was not much larger than her own at home, though it was lavishly decorated and the floors were a rich ivory marble instead of gleaming wood. One interesting feature was the full balcony that offered a spectacular view of the grounds. Iphany glanced out the window and flinched - how strange it was to see gently rolling hills and sculpted gardens instead of luminous sand and cobalt waves!  
  
She approached the glass, pressing her palm against the smooth surface. Squinting against the insensitive glare of the sun, she peered out across the hills and caught the familiar glimpse of water glinting from behind a shaded grove of trees. From what she could tell, it appeared to be a pond roughly half the size of Clingman's Cove. As long as there was privacy, it would suffice.  
  
Meanwhile, Lucius had been directing the arrival of her luggage when she progressed towards the window. He ventured a glance in her direction and felt again that sudden, unwelcome rush of desire to possess, to own, to break her - by the Gods, she was flawless. And her loveliness - it was not the sort that would bring smiles to strangers on the street. No, hers was a kind of singular beauty that would stop a heart rather than lift it to joy.  
  
Iphany felt his eyes on her, and she turned slowly, giving him time to avert his gaze. She hated this already, hated the hot, prickly feeling of tension crawling beneath her skin and the constant tenor of politesse in his voice. Would it be like this around every man? Somehow she did not think so, but in the same respect, she was beginning to feel more and more like a small animal caught and chained in a cage.  
  
"I'd like to be alone now, if you don't mind." She said primly, noticing that her luggage had arrived. Now would be a perfect time for the bath she'd forgone this morning in favor of an early arrival.  
  
Lucius arched a single, india ink brow at her request.  
  
"Of course. When you are hungry for lunch, summon one of my Elves and they will take you downstairs or bring it up here, whichever you prefer." Malfoy turned and made as though he were about to leave, and then thought the better of it to offer: "I do hope they find who truly committed that awful crime against the Muggle girl. Terrible thing, that was." His comment, seemingly innocent and unassuming, held an undercurrent so strong that Iphany almost sneered at its blatancy. So she gave him the answer she knew would be most well received, smiling blandly as she lifted the first box off the top of her suitcases and began fingering the contents.  
  
"They have the man who did it, Lord Malfoy. And I'm certain the Muggle deserved it." Iphany's smile widened, the hollowness of her words lost on Lucius as he returned the expression in full. Cruel and beautiful..  
  
"Perhaps you are right, Miss Novara." Lucius smirked, doffing a formal half bow before backing out of the bedroom. "I shall see you at dinner, if not before. Have a pleasant afternoon."  
  
He turned out into the hall and softly pulled the doors shut, lifting his fingers to his mouth.  
  
His lips were still warm and faintly tingling from kissing her hand. 


	12. Lamb

Song of the Siren : Lamb  
  
A/N : God, someone kill the Missy Elliot Moron. Please.  
  
Find the alliteration, get the cookies! : )  
  
// Lamb //  
  
Iphany spent the better part of two hours lazing indolently in a bathtub large enough to comfortably fit three fully grown men. The bath energized her in the same manner that a nap would a normal person, so when she finally lifted herself grudgingly from the steaming vat of rose salted water, she felt immensely better than she had in the last twenty four hours.  
  
Blat obediently presented a towel to her dripping Mistress, who drew the angel soft terry around her slender shoulders as she ventured back into the bedroom.  
  
Her stomach protested loudly its lack of food as she reached into the armoire and pulled out a pale ivory robe. She hadn't eaten since the previous afternoon, and hunger was finally catching up with her.  
  
Resigning to see about lunch after she'd made herself presentable, Iphany settled in at the vanity, glancing up at the mirror to check her reflection - and gasping when it burst into raucous sobs. At first she wasn't sure where the awful noise was coming from, but very quickly she ascertained its origin when she noticed that the glass in the frame was trembling with each invisibly drawn breath.  
  
What Iphany did not know was that her mother'd had every enchanted mirror in the Novara Estate replaced with "normal" glass for this very reason.  
  
The disembodied voice wailed consistently, an ear shattering keen that continued until Iphany draped one of her winter robes over the gilded frame.  
  
The entire incident terrified Blat, who thought it was Iphany who was crying - so she started to howl at the top of her lungs and would not stop until Iphany took her by the shoulders and shook her violently.  
  
Iphany made a mental note to inquire immediately about replacing the mirror.  
  
Half an hour later, with hair dried smooth and plaited into a single thick raven braid down her back, Iphany ventured out into the corridor. Almost immediately a House Elf appeared, gibbering at ninety to nothing and tugging her down the hallway. She tried to pay attention to which turns and staircases lead where, but after a minute or who she gave up and decided that the stupid creature was leading her in circles.  
  
At last she was escorted into a small (well, comparatively small) breakfast room that was airy, bright and open. The mid noon sun poured in through a wall made entirely of windows, and it was so dazzling that Iphany had to cover her eyes just to see the contents of the chamber. As much as she hated the blaze of light, the sun in turn adored her; it loved to coax gold sparks in her pale green eyes and to tease the hidden blue fire from deep within her midnight hair.  
  
An impressive spread of fruit and vegetable was the only thin to catch Iphany's eye. The dressed, smoky smelling meat, boiled eggs and the like made her feel faintly nauseous, so she retreated to the far corner of the room with a plateful of fruit and a pastry.  
  
One of the obviously calmer and more dexterous Elves appeared with hot tea, which was pleasantly sweet and flavored like rosehips.  
  
She ate quickly, for the glare in the room was making her head throb. Blat, who had apparently acquired directions to the bedroom from another House Elf, waited at the door to escort Iphany back to the suite.  
  
But Iphany had other plans, and after several sharp words a chastened Blat slunk back to the chamber by herself. Iphany knew that if she did not explore the manor by herself then she would never learn her way around, so she picked the first door she came to and slipped inside.  
  
It led to another antechamber; one lined in portraits of the Malfoy men, dating back to what must have been at least twenty generations. Each one bore resemblance to the last - all wore the same haughty expression and had similar regal, golden features. Heads turned as she walked past, icy eyes in varying shaded depths of blue and gray following her into the next room.  
  
This one was a ballroom, with black marble floors and pillars, so vast in size that even Iphany's softly slippered footsteps echoed like shouting. Taken by an impetuously childish urge, she gathered her skirt in one hand and waltzed in a large circle. She stopped on the second go-around, blushing at her foolishness even though no-one was around to laugh at her.  
  
The ballroom lost its wonder after this, so she proceeded on, choosing the first of three doors that lead further into the house.  
  
Another hallway yawned before her, studded with doors, which, upon inspecting the contents of the first two, must have all opened up into bedrooms.  
  
The subsequent foyer yielded the same, and every door was unlocked for perusal except for one - a floor to ceiling French entrance with polished platinum knobs and a large twining snake carved into the frame. She assumed this must be Lord Malfoy's chamber, and for some reason found herself committing the directions to memory.  
  
Iphnay was just about to turn around and make her way back when a faint sound - like crying - caught her ears. Straining to detect the source, she rounded the next corner and the noise grew louder - this time she could tell for certain that it was a human voice, and that it was most definitely not a happy one.  
  
Down a flight of stairs - around a corner, through a hall of diamond chandeliers - louder and louder and more pitiful grew the sound.  
  
It seemed to be coming from behind a large, obviously iron door at the bottom of a staircase. Iphany descended warily, realizing that as she drew closer, the crying stopped and she could hear the sharp intake of breath as whoever - whatever was behind that door recognized the sound of footsteps.  
  
She reached the bottom, curiosity rising to a fever pitch. She lifted her hand to the latch and -  
  
"You must be Iphany. I thought your room was in the East wing."  
  
Iphany started and turned to see a tall, stately woman topping the stairs. By appearances, she could have been Lord Malfoy's sister, but from the portrait in the dining hall, she knew it to be his wife, Narcissa. Iphany glanced from door to woman and back, offering a smile that was nothing short of angelic.  
  
"Lady Malfoy, I presume? I do think I got a bit lost. Your home is quite difficult to navigate." As she ascended the stairs, she noticed that the voice behind the door had fallen eerily silent.  
  
Narcissa smiled wanly and moved so that Iphany could pass her in the doorway. She scanned the younger girl shamelessly, nodding her head slightly when the dark haired Siren presented her with a genteel curtsy.  
  
"Of course." Narcissa snapped her fingers and an Elf appeared, skittering in front of Iphany and bowing repeatedly. "This one will show you back to your room, or to the East wing parlor."  
  
Iphany resisted the urge to throw the older woman's faux etiquette back in her face, as her charade was transparent as the color of her pale, feathery hair. Jealousy and suspicion, prepared and unfounded, oozed off the woman like bad perfume. Instead, Iphany choked on her instant malice and offered a smile.  
  
"Thank you, Lady Malfoy. It was a pleasure meeting you at last." She veritably cooed, turning to follow the House Elf down the corridor.  
  
"Yes. Quite."  
  
There was a moment of silence as Iphany trekked down the hall in the House Elf's wake, a moment broken by Narcissa's tinny, metallic voice.  
  
"You stay away from both of them, or you'll have it." She warned, a statement without propriety to soften the sting.  
  
Iphany turned and presented a full, toothy smile. "Yes," She replied, rather cryptically,"I know."  
  
By the time Iphany reached her bedroom, she'd forgotten about her encounter with the Lady of the house. She had no intention of going anywhere near either of the Malfoy men, but she knew telling the woman that would be like explaining Arithmancy to a sand crab. Expect jealousy, her father had once said, before she was grown and things had gone completely off kilter. Expect it, and revel in it. For in beauty, seduction and charm, she would always be unrivaled.  
  
She spent the rest of the afternoon drowsing idly on the ridiculously large bed, studying and reading a bit and allowing a brief thought or two to wander to her father. Do hope he's enjoying Azkaban, she thought mirthlessly, not finding it at all odd that she felt neither a loathing nor any fear for him. It was as though his continued existence did not matter a whit to her one way or another. As long as he was not in her line of sight, she could keep him and his horrible, horrible deeds tucked inside in a small, airtight space that would never see the light of day.  
  
And what of the strange sounds behind the door? How lucky and how questionable it was that Narcissa had appeared the moment she was about to open the door and discover the source of those wretched moans. It seemed that the Malfoy house, unlike her own, was full of secrets.  
  
The sun began a slow, sluggish slog toward the West, drawing down the ruthless heat of the afternoon and enticing the cooler shades of evening to settle on the sky's faintly sloping shoulders. There was a knock on the door , and a small voice called -  
  
"Mistress Novara! Master Lucius wishes for Yana to tell you that dinner will be served in an hour, and to please be prepared if you wish to join the family, Miss Novara."  
  
"Alright." Iphany responded, though she doubted the Elf was waiting for a reply of any nature. She briefly considered calling for dinner in her room, and then decided against it - it would be interesting to watch Narcissa turn purple at her presence. As an afterthought she shifted through the bottom drawer of the armoire and produced another one of the moon-gem slivers on its golden chain.  
  
"Blat, go find the little Malfoy and give him this." She ordered, dropping the necklace into the Elf's outstretched hands. Blat held the trinket like it was the holiest of relics, tears springing to her huge green eyes at the thought of being entrusted with something so important.  
  
Iphany didn't quite see it in that respect, but at least this way she did not have to hunt the boy down and give it to him herself. Strange that she thought him so young in her mind; after all, he was in fact several months older than she was, if she remembered correctly. But Iphany already knew that she was going to take issue with people her own age, as her maturity skipped merry laps around theirs by a good ten or fifteen years.  
  
Now came the task of readying herself for dinner. Iphany had been raised under the school of thought that prescribed formal attire to every dinner attended, even if she was eating alone. Her father insisted that she wear her nicest robes to the table and would have never accepted anything less than well-groomed perfection in his own presence. She tended to think that perhaps the Malfoys were of the same capacity, if not more so, since the lot of them (or at least the two she'd met thus far) seemed terrifically entangled in the idea of decorum. Narcissa had let her little façade slip, but it was still in a manner that screamed good breeding and impeccable behavior.  
  
So Iphany drew out her second best robe (her best was far too elaborate for this occasion, a deep blood red overlain with black filigreed lace). This one was a soft, foamy-pale jade that perfectly mirrored the color of her eyes, fabric woven of sheerest spidersilk and filmy in layered shades of the same greenish hue. It was fitted, tapering gently into the sharp curve of her waist and flaring demurely over her hips. The sleeves were large, belled, rimmed in tiny diamonds that only gave off sparkles if she turned just so.  
  
Beneath the robe she wore a white underslip, laced edges just peeking out at the v-juncture of fabric across her chest. She unbraided her hair, brushing the soft ripples out with a comb until the dark, bluish curtain fell in loose, tumbling waves to the middle of her back.  
  
Unable to check her reflection in the mirror, Iphany hoped everything was straight and in order and that she didn't look terribly silly. Just as she was touching a bit of lily-scented oil to her neck and wrists, there was another knock at the door.  
  
Blat (who had returned from her stint as a delivery Elf) rushed to answer it, jumping up twice before she could reach the knob to swing the door open. The same Elf that had led her to the breakfast room at noon was waiting to show her to the dining hall. Iphany bid Blat to stay in the room, ordering her to see about replacing the mirror before she returned from dinner.  
  
As they were making their way to the dining room, Iphany felt a rush of weakness and vertigo pass across her body like a wave. She would have to eat fast, for the Siren version of sea-sickness was about to set in. The bath earlier that day had been a temporary reprieve, but she knew she'd have to make use of the small pool on the grounds soon or make a spectacle of herself before she'd even had time to make a real impression. The thought of singing and swimming lifted her spirits some, though pondering it did awaken the itchy, dull ache of absence.  
  
Soon she was before a door wrought in gold bearing the Malfoy crest and reaching all the way up to the place where the fifteen-foot wall met the ceiling. She reached for the knob, but soon found that gesture unnecessary, as the door swung wide open of its own accord.  
  
Well, Iphany thought, surprised at how nervous she was, here I go.  
  
And in she went, the virgin lamb amidst the wolves. 


	13. Behold

Song of the Siren : Behold  
  
A/N : I skipped work today and thought I'd write, so instead I got a monstrous headache. Exciting news, folks - someone's offered to do illustrations for this story!! I've never been inspiring enough for illustration, so this is a good day for me. Keep an eye out for links, I'll have them as soon as she finishes.  
  
// Behold //  
  
Two of the three Malfoys sitting at the impossibly long dinner table rose when Iphany walked in. Narcissa remained seated, completely ignoring the Siren's entrance and choosing instead to concentrate solely on the plate of food in front of her.  
  
"Miss Novara, please. Be seated." Lucius called, rounding the side of the table and pulling out the chair next to Narcissa's. Iphany thanked him softly, sliding in to place and taking her seat. She'd managed to avoid making eye contact with Draco yet, as she did not want to be forced to hold back laughter at the expression of awe and incredulity on his face.  
  
"Draco." Lucius barked, and out of the corner of her eye, Iphany could see the young man jump, startled. "Where are your manners? Speak to Miss Novara." There was a detectable hint of amusement in his voice, one that Iphany could not help but notice. She glanced up at Lord Malfoy, the smallest quirk of a smile catching hold of her mouth and curving upward.  
  
"Nicet'meetyou." Draco breathed, smiling stupidly when Iphany turned her eyes to him. She returned the expression as genuinely as she could, conceding that Draco probably didn't act like this all the time, and that his astonishment would fade as he grew used to seeing her regularly. At least, that's what she hoped.  
  
"And you, Draco." She replied, faintly disturbed when she saw him shiver at the sound of her voice. With that she directed her attention at her plate, dismayed to find that only a small portion of it (steaming vegetables covered in some kind of sauce) looked even vaguely appealing to her. Her father had tried to get her to eat meat and poultry and other such undesirables when she was younger, but he quickly found out that not only did she not have a taste for them, the smallest bite of either made her violently ill.  
  
She started in on the vegetables, noticing how Narcissa had completely ignored her arrival and was now chattering gaily about some vacation to Rouen she'd taken the previous week. Iphany reached for her water goblet and took a sip -  
  
And then made a terrible face. Unsalted. Yuck. She glanced up at Draco, as much as it pained her, asked politely -  
  
"Could you pass the salt?"  
  
"Uh huh." He responded giddily, handing her his fork. Lord Malfoy seemed absolutely incensed at his son's behavior, interrupting Narcissa to growl,  
  
"Stop being foolish, Draco. Hand Miss Novara the salt."  
  
Draco was suddenly tugged back into a moment of reality, and he shot a nervous glance at his father as he picked up the salt and handed it to Iphany. Unfortunately, he had considered the idea of wearing some girly looking necklace to be absolutely absurd, so when his hand brushed hers in passing, his face turned beet red and he uttered a strange, unintelligible squeak.  
  
The younger Malfoy was silent and absolutely flushed for several minutes, and then he excused himself before even finishing his meal. For the first time Narcissa shot a murderous glare at Iphany, and Lucius watched with mild interest as she ignored the glower and upended her saltshaker into the goblet of water.  
  
The rest of the meal was easier, as Narcissa got over her initial seething and began talking again, with only minimal involvement from Lucius. He noted that Iphany touched nothing but the vegetables, and made a note to ask her later what, exactly, she did eat.  
  
Iphany, on the other hand, was beginning to feel more and more lethargic. She downed three goblets of water in the hopes of staving off weakness until she managed to get outside, but after fifteen minutes she realized that she could hold off no longer and that she needed to swim. Now. With a fragile shudder she stood, murmuring something to the effect of a thank you, oblivious to the fact that Lucius was watching her with something like mild concern in his eyes.  
  
As well he should have been, for halfway to the door Iphany collapsed to her knees, the world spinning disagreeably around her. Against Narcissa's silent, icy-eyed protest, Lucius rose and moved to her, lifting her gently from the ground.  
  
"Miss Novara, are you alright?" He asked, somewhat taken aback by the expression of pain wrought clearly on her face.  
  
"I'm fine." She whispered unconvincingly, motioning with one hand toward the nearest window. "I need to get outside to the pool."  
  
"Of course." Lucius responded, and his chivalry was surprising even to himself. Supporting her with an arm looped around her slender waist (why was she so warm? It was as though he could feel her skin on his even through the layers of fabric separating contact. And she smelled like--)  
  
He made the trek to the backyard grounds in record time, ignoring small protests and whimpers from the girl at his side. As soon as they stepped out into the watery blue moonlight, she seemed to perk a bit, and was better able to stand on her own. Lucius kept a hand on her shoulder until they reached the grove of trees and the pool nestled within. Iphany immediately slid to the ground beside him, removing her shoes and stockings without so much as a word. She seemed not even to notice him anymore, and he could hear her humming softly under her breath.  
  
"Miss Novara -"  
  
"You better go." She said throatily, between measures of soft, velvet melody. She'd already started unfastening the ties of her robe when he turned without so much as another word and started back for the house.  
  
She began to sing in earnest, her voice like crystal, cool against the hot summer air. Lucius clapped his hands frantically over his ears and made a mad dash for the house, feeling stupid and foolish but burdened with the knowledge that if he listened to her sing for a moment more, he would be done for.  
  
If there was one thing Lucius Malfoy could not stand, it was weakness. He hated it in his son, in his wife, and took great measures sure ensure that it never surfaced in any part of his own conduct. Hearing that girl sing and knowing she was out there, stark naked, flitting around in the pond was about the closest he'd ever come to feeling powerless without measure. Even when he was bowing and scraping to his Master, he knew that he was held in respect, and that the only reason he was bowing and scraping was the fact that Lord Voldemort was a hundred times more powerful than he.  
  
He paused at the door, breathing heavily. Damn Icarus for getting caught, and damn him for agreeing to be Godfather all those years before. Stupid girl...stupid, stupid, beautiful little girl...  
  
And this was only her first day.  
  
. . .  
  
Iphany sighed, at ease, when she finally slipped out of the water. She could hardly recall the events that brought her here, only vague shadows of memory remained to attest to how she wound up outside. She twisted her hair and flung the heavy, wet mass over one shoulder, lifted her silk underslip from where it had puddled on the ground and tugged the slightly damp thing over her head. Her elaborate dress robe she slung over one arm, forgetting her shoes in the haze of contentment as she skipped back up to the house.  
  
The moon loved her daughter, spreading warmth in the way of soft silver energy that coursed through Iphany's veins. Bathing always made her feel this way, though tonight it had felt incongruously different - odd, like something was missing. She made the exception that she was in a brand new place, far away from the real ocean, bathing in a pool conjured by magic and half the size of the one at home. The discomfort would fade in time, she reasoned.  
  
Once back inside, the thought of going to bed did not once cross her mind. Wandering around aimlessly wasn't much of an option either, as she could only imagine what Narcissa would do if she caught Iphany cavorting about the manor in a half-soaked slip in the middle of the night.  
  
It occurred to Iphany that this place ought to have a Library, and probably one far grander than the one at home. She glanced about for a House Elf -  
  
"Can I help you, Mistress Iphany?" Squealed a voice at knee level, and Iphany glanced down.  
  
"Yes," She replied, squinting in the darkness. "Take me to the library."  
  
The Elf nodded vehemently and skittered off, touching walls as she went and making the oil lamps cough and sputter to life. Iphany followed in silence, no longer trying to remember where anything was, as she knew by now that until she learned her way around, there'd be an Elf to show her the way. At least the Malfoys had trained their help well.  
  
She opened the heavy door the Elf indicated, moving silently inside the library. In here, the lamps were already partially lit. Another mark of good service - somehow they'd known she was coming, and had been clever enough to prepare the way for her. A fire blazed in the fireplace, casting long, slithery shadows across the polished floor. Most the ring of illumination only breached the center of the darkness, and the pooled shadow at each corner of the large room was slightly uncanny. Still, Iphany did not frighten easily, and had soon picked a shelf near the hearth and was glancing up at all the titles.  
  
One in particular caught her eye, a tattered volume of "Mystical Creatures and their Questionable Origins" all the way up on the fourth shelf. Frowning, she recalled that she'd left her wand on the dresser upstairs. Huffing out an irritated breath, she climbed up on the first two sturdy shelves, hiking the calf-length skirt of her slip up around her thighs so it wouldn't snag on the corners. The firelight did soft things to the lines of her, made her pale skin glow like shaded ivory and dipped racy shadows where her body curved and rounded. She reached up, precariously perched on her knees on the third shelf, legs arranged just so beneath her to keep her from falling.  
  
Lucius Malfoy was watching, transfixed, from where he sat in the dimness of shadow. When she'd first come in, he'd had every intention of announcing his presence. But when he saw her hop up on that ledge and lift her skirt up around smooth, white thighs, when he'd seen the way the firelight lent a silhouette to the outline of her body - he had become dumbstruck. And now he'd seen enough, and he shuddered. His face was flaming and his hands were trembling with desire when he uttered a low, dangerous warning -  
  
"Get out of here."  
  
Iphany gave voice to a surprised gasp and jerked, an action that sent her tumbling painfully to the floor. She scrambled up, painting, staring blindly into the darkness.  
  
"Who-"  
  
"Out!" Lucius roared, rising swiftly, the book in his lap tumbling to the ground. Iphany cringed, taking several steps back, but not fleeing yet. He came quickly from the shadows, a wildness and a desperation on his face that frightened Iphany beyond measure.  
  
Lucius Malfoy seized the sirenchild by her shoulders, ignoring the screaming protest that his body expressed, the sudden desire to crush her mouth to his and wipe that expression of terror off her beautiful face.  
  
Instead he dragged her to the door and threw her out into the hall, pulling the knob to and slamming it as hard as he could. Iphany remained on the floor for several long moments, trembling violently and trying to piece together what, exactly, she had done wrong.  
  
Finally she concluded that Lord Malfoy was a stupid git, and that she'd be better off staying as far away from him as she could. Scowling meanly, she waited a moment until the expected House Elf appeared, and then demanded to be taken back to her bedroom.  
  
Lucius leaned his head against the cool, smooth wood, listening to Iphany snarl orders at the House Elf. His heart raced, and he felt his entire body shaking with unfulfilled need. What in the name of the nine Hells had he gotten himself into? He could send her away, perhaps, to stay with Avery for a while. Then he snorted - Avery would stand about as much of a chance as Draco would when it came to ignoring her. There was always the summer home in Sweden, he could -  
  
Suddenly, the orange glow cast by the fire glazed a bright green, and Lucius turned in time to see Lord Voldemort's head appear in the fire. He was off to the hearth like a shot, kneeling before the fireplace in reverence and humility.  
  
"Lucius. How is she?" Voldemort began, making no excuses for the reason behind his appearance. Lucius smiled wanly, hoping his expression was a believable one.  
  
"Just fine, my Lord. Impetuous, just like her father. She seems entirely unaffected by his incarceration, and even said earlier that she thought the Muggle he killed probably deserved it." Lucius reported, a smile touching his face at the memory. He hoped against hope that Voldemort would not sense his agitation, the arousal that still pounded against his defenses.  
  
"Yes, I knew he'd raise her correctly. Tell me, Lucius - she is beautiful, isn't she? I've not yet seen her in person, Icarus advised against it, but he showed me an Imago once, when she was younger."  
  
Lucius was somewhat taken aback, he wanted to say 'Yes, yes she is beautiful, and I want her so badly already that I cannot stand the thought of you touching her.' Instead, he drawled lazily,  
  
"Oh yes, my Lord. She is exquisite. You will not be disappointed." He replied, lifting an eyebrow and smiling knowingly at his Master.  
  
"Good, good. I trust you've got the amulet that keeps you from desiring her, don't you, Lucius?" Voldemort asked, and Lucius wanted to laugh. If this thing was supposed to suppress his need for her touch, then what on earth, he wondered, would he feel without it? He offered a nod and showed Voldemort the gem, keeping that comment strictly internal.  
  
"Very well. I'll leave you then. We will speak again soon."  
  
With a hiss and a pop, the face of his Master disappeared, and the fire once again burned a cheery, unassuming ginger. 


	14. Waxing

Song of the Siren : Waxing  
  
A/N: God, I'm trying really hard not to turn this into a Mary Sue. I know, categorically, it is, but still...  
  
Also, I think I'm a comma whore. I need help!  
  
Cookies and cameos to Becca, who found the alliteration! Look for her in an upcoming chapter.  
  
// Waxing //  
  
Iphany did not see Lord Malfoy until the following Sunday. She suspected it had something to do with the incident in the library, and in truth was relieved for his absence. Some hours were wasted idly pondering the flashes of rage (and something else, something like wanting...) in his frigid gray eyes, the timber of his voice when he screamed at her, and why was she still thinking about that, she should be studying!!  
  
And studying - honestly, this was something she did too much of, resulting in a thorough abhorrence for every single one of the books she'd brought. It was becoming excruciatingly clear that she was an entire year ahead of the sixth year courses, and would probably expend a great deal of her own personal energy trying not to fall asleep in her classes.  
  
When she grew tired of studying, she took to wandering, which was often unproductive but never uninteresting. She managed to keep out of Narcissa's way and was blessedly free of Draco, who had been instructed to stay away from her at all costs with exceptions given only at dinnertime. While he deeply begrudged this ordinance, he was never again seen without the charm around his neck.  
  
And although she tried, Iphany was never again able to find her way back to the iron door where she heard the crying. It was not farfetched, she considered absently while meandering through the house, to think that perhaps someone had charmed the corridors to make her forget the way. At any rate, it only took two days of steadfast roving to learn her way to the breakfast room, the library, and outside. She popped up on several interesting things along the way - the most entertaining was an indoor swimming pool on the third floor that was charmed to look like a tropical jungle. Iphany whiled away many hours here, as well as in the library, which proffered a wealth of titles that held her attention far into the night.  
  
Because she didn't sleep but an hour or so each day, Iphany was also prey to the less amusing sounds of something banging about in the attic and through the halls. She dredged up the nerve to ask Narcissa about it after the third night, who scoffed as though she'd asked her what color the sky was.  
  
"It's a ghost, Iphany. Don't you have ghosts in your house?"  
  
Iphany replied haughtily that no, they most certainly did not have ghosts in their house, and if one had dared to try and make residence there it would have been immediately removed.  
  
This was about the extent of her involvement with Narcissa. Iphany sincerely did not understand the older woman's unmitigated hatred for her; after all, the Siren hadn't made any indication of being even remotely interested in Draco, and Lucius wasn't even around to show interest in. There was an ephemeral feeling of faint disappointment on Iphany's behalf; she would have liked having an older female to whom she could relate.  
  
The week drawled on, and no-one made mention of Lucius' absence. It reminded her very much of her own father, who never bothered to give her a word of warning whenever he disappeared for weeks at a time. Because he was not there to order her out, Iphany took to going to the library every night after her swim. She would curl in the large wingback chair just left of the fire with this book or that book and read until an hour or so before dawn. This became a routine, and after only three nights she was looking forward to drying herself by the fire and allowing herself to be absorbed in text.  
  
Sunday evening was as uneventful as the rest had been, a near silent dinner preceding Iphany's swim beneath a moon that was half full and waxing. In less than two weeks time it would be full, and Iphany would have to make completely certain that neither of the Malfoy men had the opportunity to be near her after she swam that night. Icarus had always told her that she was her most dangerous after a full moon swim. These were the nights when the sailors and seamen of old had come upon Sirens at play, and the union of men and faerie was at its most celestial.  
  
As it were, right now she felt only the usually rush of liquid energy and excitement she normally experienced right after swimming. Iphany lolled back up to the house, trailing her feet through grass still warm from the sun's baking path. She slipped inside and made her way to the library, humming lightly and twirling into the large, warmly lit room. A tray of tea things hovered in the air next to the chair, and Blat patiently awaited her arrival so she could prepare her Mistress' nighttime tea.  
  
While Blat was pouring and sugaring and adding creamer, Iphany browsed through the shelves, hovering most near the collection of fictions. Harriet R. Wormintongue was authoress to an impressive array of fictional stories involving witches in the fifteenth century, and Iphany found she was quickly enmeshed in the bravery and cunning that each tale offered.  
  
She was halfway through the first in a series chronicling the life of a Spanish princess who was also a witch in disguise. It proved to be very compelling, as Iphany was just starting the chapter in which Esme, the princess, was discovered performing a healing charm on an injured soldier.  
  
Snuggling warmly in the chair, she opened the book to her last read page, noting with interest the moving illustration accompanying the chapter. The rosehip tea she'd tasted her first day had quickly become her favorite, as they'd never had anything so aromatic in the Novara Household. Blat informed her that the tea was made from Narcissa's own charmed roses, which infused Iphany with an observable amount or respect for the woman. It was difficult to grow charmed roses without something going off, like the blooms turning up gray or the stems sprouting thorns as long as throwing knives. It also worried her a bit, should Narcissa ever want to be rid of her presence for good, it wouldn't be difficult to slip a bit of arsenic into the neat packets of dried rosepetals.  
  
Still, everything seemed harmless thus far, and Iphany gladly sipped the fragrant milky brew as she allowed herself to become absorbed in the story.  
  
She almost didn't notice when the library door swung open and a shadow stained the arch of light from the hallway. It wasn't until footsteps resounded in the dimming silence that she finally looked up. Her body went immediately rigid as she recognized the source of the intrusion.  
  
Lord Malfoy was home.  
  
He paused, seemingly still unaware of her presence. In the pale rinse of amber firelight his features were soft and generous, the full curve of his mouth turned down into an almost comical smirk. Iphany recognized the sharpness of his movements and the faint slur of his voice as he directed a House Elf to fetch his brandy. He was drunk. Perhaps not completely, but the tenor of his voice, low and rough, was faintly reminiscent of Icarus' when he'd had a bit too much wine at dinner. Iphany was instantly terrified, as drunk men are not to be tampered with, especially if you're about to get caught doing something already punished by violence.  
  
Still afraid to move, Iphany watched in breathless silence as he crossed the room to a shadowed place and paused before that strange, curvy thing she'd wondered at all her times here in the daylight. It stood on four legs, had a wide, wood polished base and a lifted lid that revealed all manor of strings and wire underneath. Lucius fiddled with something and lifted another cover, revealing a row of black and ivory keys.  
  
Lord Malfoy tapped his fingers on the piano a few times, cocking his head at the lovely collection of notes blooming and dying against the sound of the crackling fire. Iphany frowned at the noise - it made music? Apparently so, for when Lucius tapped the bench with his wand, the piano began playing of its own accord. The song was slow and mournful as it drifted and grew, filling the library with melody so poignant it almost made Iphany weep. She had never heard any music other than that of her own singing, and had never realized how powerful it was.  
  
She shook her head to dispel the stupor, holding the book to her chest. How was she to get out of here without him noticing? Perhaps if she just ran, he'd see her, but not have time to deal out any retribution. This seemed the most viable option, as he didn't appear to be leaving any time soon. In fact, he was approaching the fire quite purposefully, stretching up to reach the bottle of brandy and small, squat glass half hidden behind the mantle clock.  
  
One, Iphany thought grimly, preparing to dash - two, th-  
  
"Don't leave on my account, Miss Novara. Please, remain in my chair and read my book. I don't mind at all." Lucius drawled, directing his gaze at the half-hidden form of the young Siren in his chair. Iphany stopped, panic- stricken.  
  
"I-"  
  
"Do you like the music?" He asked, splashing a bit of liquid into his glass and turning to her fully, lifting an eyebrow in question. Iphany nodded stupidly, clutching the book so tightly that her knuckles turned white. "It's Mozart. As worthless as Muggles nowadays are, it's amazing what beautiful music the more gifted produce." He listened a moment, eyes on the ceiling as his fingers trailed the air in time. Terrifically wary of his joviality, Iphany simply remained silent, watching as he took the seat opposite hers on the other side of the hearth.  
  
"You can speak to me, Miss Novara. I'm not going to hurt you. My little display a week ago was...rash. A moment of pa-...got carried away, I suppose. What are you reading?" He asked, settling down in the chair and taking another sip from his glass of brandy. Iphany wordlessly held up her book.  
  
"Ah, I should have known. Harriet Wormintongue. A bunch of romantic fluff, wouldn't you say?" He smiled wolfishly, gesturing with the tumbler. Iphany bristled and shook her head.  
  
"Not a bit of romance in it yet, Lord Malfoy. Unless you count Esme's arranged marriage with the French Vicar, and I'd hardly call that romantic." She snipped, relaxing her hold on the novel and allowing it to rest in her lap.  
  
Lucius laughed heartily. "What chapter are you reading, my dear?"  
  
"I've just started six. Esme has been discovered administering a healing charm to the wounded -"  
  
"Ah, the soldier. Flip a few pages in, would you?" Lucius watched her as she complied, a smirk curving his lips. Iphany's eyes grew wider as she read, and then even more so when she glanced at the illustration on the following page.  
  
"Yes, I believe that's the part where Esme and the injured soldier m-"  
  
"That's quite enough, thank you very much!" Iphany replied hotly, turning pink. She slammed the book shut and set it on the shelf beside her. It was quiet for several moments, a silence that stretched without discomfort. After a time, when Iphany had recovered, she glanced up at Lucius and asked candidly -  
  
"So, where have you been?"  
  
He chuckled at her informality, downing the last of his drink and watching as it refilled itself. "I had some business to conduct abroad. And I went and visited your father." He watched her closely when he imparted this bit of information, noting the faint hardening of her jaw and the smallest crease appearing between her finely arched eyebrows. He'd made it a point not to look directly into her face up until now, and was again reminded why that was a clever idea. His heart veritably lurched at the sight of her.  
  
"I'm sure he's enjoying himself. Tell me, are they allowing him his nightcap? I'd hate for him to be deprived." She asked, lightly, no hint of malice or anger daring to taint the sopranic timber of her voice. Lucius suppressed a peal of laughter at her irony, and shook his head in response. Something inside of him was faintly whining about this little conversation being particularly dangerous, and that he was being stupid, and should send her off immediately. But... she was enchanting. And talking, talking never hurt anything, did it?  
  
"I'm not sure if they are or not, Iphany. But I'll be certain to suggest it." He replied, his own voice laden with satire. He was surprised that she did not ask what they had spoken about, though his answer certainly wouldn't merit curiosity were it known to her. Icarus had gone completely mad, so it seemed, and was of no interest to neither the Dementors nor the Ministry. When Lucius tried to speak to him, he had directed wild, bleary black eyes upward and said -  
  
'Please. Please. Make them stop. Make them stop singing.'  
  
All in all it had been a fairly disheartening experience, as losing Icarus as a Death Eater was certainly a blow to the lot of them. He'd always been particularly cunning and enjoyably ruthless.  
  
But that was neither here nor there. Couldn't harp too long on losses - it could breed resentment and fear or throw the followers into doubt. Lucius imparted the meat of the visit to Lord Voldemort, who shared his disappointment but suggested that they keep Icarus' madness a secret from the rest of the Death Eaters.  
  
He noticed that Iphany had risen, and was now making a wide berth around his chair to get to the shelf on the other side. As she passed he caught the faint redolence of lily, a smell that was warm and moist like a full, fat summer moon. It made the small hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention, and he cleared his throat uncomfortably.  
  
Iphany replaced the Harriet Wormintongue book, blushing mildly again at the memory of the first sentence on page one thirty seven. Well, how was she to know it was some bawdy romance novel? Damn him for ruining her reading experience. Damn him indeed, for she turned suddenly and saw him gazing at her over the back of his chair. She stiffened and pivoted back to her shelf, wondering at how suddenly and mysteriously warm it had become in here.  
  
Selecting something at random, she assumed her seat across from him again; glad to see that he had redirected his attention to his brandy and the fire. She read silently for a few minutes, realizing after a page or so that she'd picked another Wormintongue book, and this one apparently made no attempt to disguise itself as a respectable piece of literature. Lucius laughed as she slammed the volume shut and stared sullenly forward.  
  
"May I suggest something, Miss Novara?" He asked, rising from his seat. She flinched imperceptibly at his movement, quickly recovering to respond -  
  
"If you insist."  
  
"I do. Here, try this." He unsheathed his wand, pointed it over his shoulder and muttered something she could not hear. A book came sailing from behind him, landing in her quickly outstretched hands.  
  
"Paradise Lost?" She asked, turning the book over in her hands. Opening the first page, she read a few lines and then looked back at him.  
  
"Yes, by a wizard in the seventeenth century. He posed as a Muggle so as to get his works widely published, but this is his account of Hell. Though somewhat dark at times, and slightly difficult to read, I'm sure you'll find it much more intellectually stimulating than anything by the torrid Madame Wormintongue." Lucius replied, resuming his seat and lifting his legs to rest his feet on the stool before him. Iphany raised her eyebrows and laid the book in her lap. She was pensively quiet for a moment before replying -  
  
"Thank you."  
  
He nodded in acquiescence and rose again to seek his own reading, reasoning that if he was going to secretly allow himself in the pleasure of her company, he'd better do it unobtrusively.  
  
Iphany read to herself for quite some time, and for two hours straight the only sound in the room was the faint swish of turning pages. Lucius continued to get steadily drunker and less inhibited about indulging himself in taking quick glimpses of the Siren. She noticed after the fourth or fifth, pinking at the meeting of eyes.  
  
"Am I doing something that amuses you, Lord Malfoy? Or do you simply enjoy staring at me?" She asked hotly, mildly irritated by his effrontery. To her chagrin, he simply smiled, teeth flashing almost dangerously in the light. There was an almost tangible change in his aura, and Iphany could practically hear the alcohol scudding thickly through his veins.  
  
"What do you think, Miss Novara?" He asked silkily, closing his book and ending the charade of ''reading''.  
  
"I think...I think I'm going to bed." She said suddenly, lifting herself swiftly from her seat. Her level of discomfort had risen drastically at the sound of his voice, for it was no longer a thing of light and camaraderie.  
  
Lucius watched as she swept out of the room, bidding him a passing goodnight and slipping out into the hall. Even through this miasma of drunkenness his heart hitched in his chest at her absence, and he again cursed Icarus Novara for getting caught.  
  
It appeared that he would either have to be absent from his own home on a regular basis, or learn to handle himself around the Siren. The latter was covertly more appealing. Lucius Malfoy was a man of strength and fortitude, and he was not about to let some half-human child temptress seduce him into stupidity. As it was, so far he was behaving quite nicely, and as long as he didn't get too drunk around her, he imagined he'd be able to control himself without much effort. Still, that didn't change the fact that an image of her face, softly smiling, hovered in the back of his mind whenever she was not around. He would not fold, and would send her away or leave himself before succumbing to lust.  
  
Unfortunately, he had no choice in the matter. But that was unbeknownst to him now, and the last thing he wanted was to betray his Master.  
  
Stupidly, Iphany returned to the library the following evening, and she and Lord Malfoy discussed the first chapter of Paradise Lost. And again the next night, and the next night, until Iphany began to look forward to the light banter and conversation the Lord of Malfoy Manor provided.  
  
They spent time together for the following week, but on the eighth night, Iphany discovered the source of the crying behind the iron door. 


	15. Stasis

Song of the Siren : Stasis  
  
A/N: Christ, fifteen chapters in a week? I must be sick or something. : ) Mucho, mucho kudos to Reagan, who influenced this chapter to the highest degree. Book poisoning taken from "Queen Margo," based on the life of Catherine de Medeci.  
// Stasis //  
Of Man's first disobedience, and the Fruit  
  
Of the Forbidden Tree, whose mortal taste  
  
Brought D e a t h into the world  
John Milton - Paradise Lost (1667)  
  
. . .  
  
Iphany stretched luxuriantly in her armchair, flipping a page of "Paradise Lost" with a tongue moistened thumb. The three quarter moon grinned roundly through her window, sneaking cool blue shadow into the eaves of her bedroom. Tonight she had chosen to be alone (though not voluntarily, the library had been empty when she went in after her swim) and reading by herself was no longer as much fun as it had been before she started to spend her evenings with Lord Malfoy. Each night started out pleasantly enough and ended when he became so intoxicated that he shouted at her or dragged her out again.  
  
And each night, she came back, ready to discuss the previous evening's reading. She could not put a name to what drew her into the library every night, it was a feeling faintly akin to the pull of the water and the desire to sing.  
  
Still, this evening was different, as everything had been dark and cold inside the library. Even though she'd spent the previous week alone, it seemed large and too empty without him. Her bedroom offered a smaller, cozier place for solitary reading.  
  
But tonight she couldn't seem to concentrate, and the language of the epic poem was even harder to decipher than usual. She found she gained greater insight into the novel upon her nightly discussions with Lucius, as he seemed to be the host of a vast array of knowledge to which she was certainly not privy. Still, she plowed through without hesitation, and would never have admitted that half the reason she was reading this book was because he seemed so intent on it.  
  
A few more pages flipped until she realized that she hadn't read a single line, and that her thumb was now faintly tingling from constantly rubbing against the paper. Perhaps it was time to stop, or at least see if the library was still vacant. She slid out of the chair and stood, wobbling slightly. Head rush, she thought mildly as she paused to steady herself.  
  
Tucking the book under one arm, she slipped out into the hallway and swung sharply to the right, down a flight of stairs almost hidden behind a carved bust of some ancient Lady of the manor. To the left, the second door, another flight of stairs, straight through th-  
  
"Hmm." Iphany said aloud, glancing down the hallway. She must have taken a right instead of a left at the staircase, which would put her.where? Just south of the breakfast room. Or was this the floor the pool -  
  
"Oh, damn it." She cursed, stamping her foot. The sound of her voice traveled impressively, echoing back at her for several seconds before dying against the marble.  
  
But then.beneath that, just as her voice faded, she heard again the faint, whispery sound of someone weeping. Freezing in place, she listened for several moments and ascertained the direction - then she was off, padding silently down the hall. Down here? No, the voice was fainter. This way! Yes - the ballroom, the portrait hall, the rows and rows of doors leading into bed rooms.  
  
Filled with a deep well of trepidation, Iphany stopped at the top of the stairs leading to the iron door. It was slightly ajar, but by now the voice had dulled to a near-dead whimper. She resisted the urge to call out, struck again with a wave of dizziness that could not be attributed to standing up too quickly. Was the hallway cursed, perhaps, to keep people from coming to close?  
  
Then another voice, this one low and familiar and immediately identifiable as the elder Malfoy's. Iphany descended the stairs slowly, one at a time until she could see into the room through the crack in the door.  
  
With one hand propped up against the wall to steady herself, Iphany leaned in and peered into the semi darkness. It was hard to see for a moment, as her head had gone all muzzy in addition to another crush of nausea. When she could finally see clearly, her mouth snapped open, jaws unhinged.  
  
Lord Malfoy was leaning over a table, and on the table, strapped at ankles and wrists was a woman. She appeared to be in her late thirties, filthy, sobbing and emaciated. Iphany shuddered, shaking her head to clear her foggy vision.  
  
"I'll ask you again, Mudblood. How did they know? This is your last chance, as you've proved so pleasantly impervious to other means of persuasion." Lucius spoke softly, his tone smooth in an attempt to cajole the woman into an answer. Iphany watched in morbid fascination as she woman shook her head weakly and muttered something under her breath. Lucius' face grew hard as stone, and he stepped back from the table.  
  
"Fine. I've given you ample opportunity. I'm not afraid to make an example of you. Avada Kedavra!"  
  
There was a great seething flash of green, and when it was over, Lucius looked up in time to see Iphany in the doorway. She shook her head, frowned as though confused by some irascible riddle, and crumpled neatly to the floor.  
  
. . .  
  
"Iphany?"  
  
She was drowning, and it was pleasant. She sifted lazily through water that was heavy and thick as mud, arms and legs useless against the tread. There was a great, pressing heaviness on her chest, a hitching in her breath. Her head ached, but deep in this jelly state of treading nothing, she could ignore the pain. Far above her, shimmering and distorted, hovered something like.faces? Or was it the moon, thrown into duality by the shifting of the tide? She reached up, hand struggling against the weight of the water that wasn't so pleasant anymore. Now it was an agonizing pressure, a burning in her limbs, boiling lead in her belly. She tried to speak, but the words were muffled and suffocated by the honey thick water.  
  
"Smmmmgemmyout!"  
  
Lucius flinched as the Mediwizard bent over Iphany, holding her firmly by the shoulders so that when she thrashed violently in her delirium she wouldn't injure herself. The spell passed and she was still, breathing labored and eyelids twitching.  
  
"How long will it last?" Lucius asked, grimacing as Iphany's face contorted into a mask of pain.  
  
"Depends. Vedonia is a slow-acting poison, and by now enough of it has built up in her body so that it may take a while for it to run its course. She won't die from it. Her blood is different from ours, stronger. She'll be able to fight it, but it isn't going to be pretty." The young Mediwizard was painfully good at making things appear slightly bleaker than they already were. He moved from the Siren's bedside, gingerly lifting the book from the night table. His "Trouva puissen" charm had worked wonders, directing his wand immediately to the vector by which Iphany had contacted her illness.  
  
"I still don't understand. How could she be poisoned by a book? It doesn't make any sense." Lucius said irritably, glaring hotly at the unassuming volume dangling between the Mediwizard's thumb and forefinger.  
  
"Quite simple, really." The young man said importantly, lifting Iphany's hand and indicating her right thumb, which had gone a frightening shade of purple. "Someone smeared the pollen all over the pages. Every time Iphany licked her thumb to turn the page, she ingested a little more of the poison. I'd guess she's been reading this for three or four days, right?"  
  
Poison.pages - these two words wormed comfortably into Iphany's sludgy conscience.  
  
"Eight, actually. I gave it to her a week ago." Lucius replied. Where the hell was Narcissa? He'd sent an Elf to wake her half an hour ago. Surely she wasn't primping at a time like this.  
  
"Well, whoever poisoned the book must have done it within the last couple of days, because she would have gotten sick long ago had it been on there when she started reading it." The young Wizard eyed Malfoy with guarded suspicion. "Say," he began lightly, edging towards the door. "You.uh-"  
  
"Oh, don't be stupid, boy. Why would I call you if I were the one who poisoned her?" Lucius snapped, pacing for the door and glancing out into the empty hallway.  
  
"Oh. Right." The Mediwizard colored briefly, stepping back to Iphany's side. "Well, there's not much else I can do for her, Lord Malfoy, unless you want me to sit with her through the night. She should be better by morning, at least conscious and talking. I can sit with her, if you want." He said again, a little too eagerly. Lucius gave him a withering stare, and he shrank back.  
  
"Of course. Well, I'll leave you with a bit of the antidote. Just make sure she gets a bit every hour or so until the fever breaks. And be sure to hold her down when she thrashes, or she's liable to break a bone." The dark haired young man bowed once, and then three times more when Lord Malfoy absently handed him a very large sackful of Galleons.  
  
"Narcissa!!" Lucius called down the hall, keeping an eye on Iphany in case she had another fit while he wasn't looking. Narcissa's suite wasn't far down, she was bound to hear him, screaming as he was. He heard footsteps and heaved a sigh of relief. The thought of having to sit with her all night, watching her beautiful face twist in agony - well, it wasn't something he was too keen on doing.  
  
"Narcissa, someone's - damnit, you, where is she? I sent you for her half an hour ago!" Lucius roared as the House Elf came into view, skulking meekly around the corner.  
  
"Yanna knows, Master, and Yanna did go fetch Lady Narcissa, but Lady Narcissa wouldn't come, Master. She start throwing things in a bag and then - floof! Gone. I is trying to stop her, Master, I is telling her Miss Iphany is very ill, but she act like she doesn't hear me. I tried, Master! I tried!" Yanna dissolved into tears, and a cold weight thudded against Lucius' chest. The bitch. That jealous, conniving, stupid whore of a woman. She had poisoned Iphany. She had poisoned the girl slated to be the Dark Lord's mistress, and now she was running like a Muggle in Knockturn Alley.  
  
Completely and utterly powerless to deliver immediate and lasting retribution, Lucius stood stock still for several minutes, his face going all shades of red and his fists clenching so tightly that he felt the skin of his palms weep. Oh, how he would punish her when he found her. Narcissa had placed the entire family in jeopardy with this little stunt. If Iphany had died under their care, Lord Voldemort would have exacted his revenge on the lot of them without so much as a blink.  
  
He was entertaining ideas of the most depraved nature when the sound of Iphany's weak, kittenish voice came drifting from the canopied bed.  
  
"Lume?" She said softly, lifting herself on her elbows. Her eyes were frighteningly lucid, her flushed face wrought in wonder and wanting. Lucius shook his head and made a face. Merlin's tongue, this was going to be a long night.  
  
"No, child, L-"  
  
"I knew it was you. I sang, and you came! The starfish said you wouldn't, but I knew! I knew!" She giggled, slapping both hands over her mouth and staring at him coquettishly from beneath a fringe of dark lashes. Lucius was at a loss. Was he supposed to indulge this fantasy, or try to wake her from it? He was about to do the latter when she lifted up on her knees and got very, very close to him, one hand lifted to brush an errant lock of spun white gold from his forehead.  
  
Lucius's entire body went rigid. Control. Control!!  
  
Iphany laughed again, shifting closer and tilting her face to the side.  
  
"I've waited for you." She said, a slow, dangerous grin lighting on her mouth.  
  
It was at this point Lucius thought that one more statement like that would be enough to make him take his chances with the Mediwizard. Fortunately, such drastic measures were not necessary. In the next instant Iphany's face changed and her eyes went dark again. She slumped, limp for a moment before gasping shrilly in pain. Every muscle in her small body tensed and released at once, spurring a spasm that forced her into violent, thrashing tremors. Lucius gritted his teeth and placed a hand on either of her shoulders to anchor her down. She arched beneath him, sobbing incoherently as the wave of pain flooded its course.  
  
Soon she was exhausted and still, chest rising and falling with the monumental effort of breathing normally. Lucius, almost as fatigued as she by the ordeal, moved to settle in the chair beside the bed.  
  
To say that this was not at all how he had expected this evening to end was the understatement of the century.  
  
. . .  
  
Iphany existed, but barely. She was so, so tired. She wanted desperately to ignore the evocatively familiar voice trying to rouse her dream conscience, but after a time she opened her eyes, blearily taking in the contents of the oddly foreign room.  
  
Ilia sat in the bedside chair, smiling dimly, her effervescent aura of peace an instant mediator for Iphany's fever soaked brain.  
  
"My goodness, child. You certainly have grown. And look how beautiful you have become! Your human blood seems to have enhanced the loveliness you inherited from my people." Ilia said, gently reaching and laying a blessedly cool hand against her daughter's cheek. Iphany scowled at the word 'beautiful.'  
  
"What good has that done me?" She asked, folding her arms obstinately across her chest. Ilia shook her head forlornly in response.  
  
"It will aid you eventually, but now you must - Iphany. Iphany! Li-"  
  
The image of Ilia's face shifted and swam. Iphany's fever spiked and threw her from dream to memory to hallucination and back with a maddening speed. She saw the Sirens gathered at the mouth of the cove, the face of some strange woman morphed in terror (he murdered her, father -) Ilia, calm features twisted in distress. Lord Malfoy...or...was it...  
  
Spinning wildly, her battered mind finally stilled at a peaceful vision of the shoreline. Iphany felt cool, darkness cloaked her skin and the harsh white pounding in her head was gone.  
  
Her heart leapt when she strained to see down the beach, for the tall, silver-pale figure approaching was so familiar...a ripe yearning bloomed in her chest, and she Knew.  
  
She was the Lady of the Sea, and the Moon Lord had finally come for her.  
  
. . .  
  
Lucius snapped awake at the first hint of voice from the Sirenchild. He sat forward, glaring warily down at her, cursing the damp sheets that tangled around smooth, pale legs.  
  
Her eyes were wide open, and she was gazing at him with nothing short of inestimable adoration. Lucius swallowed hard, and said -  
  
"Would you l-"  
  
"I love you, Lume. I have for all time." Iphany said, lifting herself up and sitting on her heels before him. The glassiness in her eyes was gone, and her cheeks were touched by only the faintest kiss of pink. It would have been easy to take her seriously were she not so busy acting completely daft.  
  
"Now look, Iphany. Stop this. I'm not-"  
  
"Kiss me." She said breathily, leaning forward and resting her hot little palms on his thigh.  
  
"Listen to me, child. I'm-"  
  
"Please."  
  
Lucius fought and lost a brief internal battle, and then he took her by the chin and brought his mouth very close to hers.  
  
"Glad you won't remember this." He whispered.  
  
Iphany grinned, and then her lashes fluttered and she sagged in his hands. Another seizure wracked her limbs as she tumbled to the bed. Slightly stunned and flung mercilessly back into reality, it took a moment for Lucius to regain his composure and shift so he could hold her down as the convulsion passed.  
  
But even this simple act of restraint brought him painfully close to her fever-warm flesh, so he grabbed her flailing arms, looped them over her head and unsheathed his wand.  
  
"Firenza," He muttered. "Brao."  
  
Iphany remained locked in this position, arms held fast above her head. Only her face was free of the spell, melting and sharpening into various shades of anguish.  
  
Lucius set the spell to last until the morning, and then called out roughly for Iphany's House Elf. Blat scuffled from beneath the dresser, trembling madly, and listened carefully to Lucius' instructions.  
  
"Watch her. If she stops breathing, come and find me. Give her a bit of that every hour." He directed, pointing at the small vial and dropper of hot pink liquid sitting on the nightstand.  
  
Disgusted at himself for that spineless moment of weakness, Lord Malfoy stalked from the room and slammed the door as hard as he could. Iphany flinched in her stupor, but she knew no more until the dawn. 


	16. Touch

Song of the Siren : Touch  
  
A/N : Okay, I guess a bit of explaining is in order, since people seem to be getting confused. If you look back to previous chapters (I'm not sure which one, but it's in there) I mentioned that Sirens are the daughters of the Lady of the Ocean and the Lord of the Moon. Their night dark hair is representative of the sky, their pale skin is like the moon, and their eyes are about the color of sunlit seawater. Now, Iphany was dreaming (hallucinating, really) about Lume, the Lord of the Moon. Lucius Malfoy, with his long, white blonde hair and pale features and gray eyes looks a great deal like what Iphany imagines the Moon Lord looks like. The poison she ingested caused her to be extraordinarily confused, hence mistaking Lucius for the Moon Lord in one of her brief moments of screwed up lucidity.  
  
Okay, I'm not going to explain any more. More props to Reagan, and thank you guys who are reviewing. I lub you lots!  
// Touch //  
  
"This is terrible, Renali." Alba finally admitted, glancing up from the pearl she held in her hands. "Ilia's contact strengthened our bond with Iphany, but now that I can see what she's doing, I almost wish..."  
  
"I know." Renali replied, averting her eyes from the images dancing in the orb. "What are we going to do? She's already dreaming of Lume. You know what that means."  
  
"Well..." Alba considered this for a moment, lowering the pearl as she pondered. "It could have been the poison-dreams..."  
  
"Don't be foolish, Alba. You know a Siren only dreams of the Lord when she's had her first...her first real Wanting." Renali interrupted, turning Alba so that she faced her. "We can't allow this to happen. How is it that Ilia's spell is weakening so quickly?"  
  
"It's not weakened yet. She could...she could lay with the man, any man, and still be without emotion. But he won't be able to help it. He won't..."  
  
"She's too far away for us to reach her personally. If we'd gotten to touch her that day, perhaps she would be Bound to us as we are to each other. As of now, we can only watch and hope." Renali slid an arm around Alba's shoulder and shook her head. "We must have faith..."  
  
. . .  
First light. Painful - bright beyond perception, harshly scalding her eyes. Iphany roused and glanced around, and then snuggled back into oblivion. // (something bland and oily sliding down her throat - an ugly, wrinkled face, huge eyes - "Please swallow some, Mistress Iphany." She refused. Another blurry visage, this one human and pleasant - she complied, working her throat to accept the...) // Second awakening. A definitively human hand graced her brow, smoothing back tangled ebony waves. A feminine voice -  
  
"How are you feeling, Iphany?"  
  
"Ngh. Who are you?" Just the act of speaking made her head pound and the muscles in her stomach contract. Iphany mustered all her energy, rolled to one side and threw up politely all over the polished marble floor. Something wet and cool touched her cheeks as the owner of the disembodied voice directed her back to the pillows. Iphany moaned unintelligibly, and then asked again -  
  
"Who're y-you?"  
  
"My name is Mrs. Dalyrimple, I'm a Mediwitch. Luc...Malfoy...to take...bathe. Poison...course."  
  
Iphany heard everything as if from very, very far away, as though the (Mediwitch? Was that even a word?) was speaking into a blustery wind. But she comprehended the word 'bathe', and perceived the gnawing ache of dehydration and moon-sickness on top of the dreadful ache in her head and gut. Then there was that other one...Poison? Malfoy? Darkness again...  
  
She drifted through misty moments of consciousness as the Mediwitch transported her to the bathing pool. Her only distinct memories were of the moon (partially obscured by scudding blue clouds), of humming as if by rote, and the celestial velvet of water sliding across her skin.  
  
The next day was somewhat better. She was able to stay awake for minutes at a time, but was still bereft of enough energy to say more than two in succession. The evening yielded more solid memories of swimming; tonight she realized this "Mediwitch" was holding her upright in the water so she would not drown.  
  
She tried to ask,'What on earth is wrong with me?', but all that came out was -  
  
"Wummmee?!?" Iphany would have laughed at herself had she the physical ability to do so.  
  
When she awoke on the third day, she found that she could sit up and think rather clearly. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood unsteadily - and then fell directly back to the mattress. An irritated howl did nothing for the throb in her head, but it did draw Blat out from beneath the dresser.  
  
"Blat." She said breathlessly, sliding up to prop herself on the pillows. "What has happened to me?"  
  
So relieved was the servile creature to finally hear her Mistress speak that she wailed inconsolably for several minutes before she was able to answer. Iphany, who was still to weak to offer her usually shouting admonishments, was forced to stuff her fingers in her ears and wait for the sniveling to subside.  
  
"Answer me, Elf. What happened? Why am I like this?" Iphany demanded, finding that the longer she was awake, the more lucid she became.  
  
"M-m-mistress has been...been...p-p-poisoned!!" Blat hiccupped, lifting her filthy shirt and blowing her nose.  
  
"Poisoned!" Iphany screeched, wincing at the stridence of her own voice. "How? By whom?"  
  
Blat shook her head miserably and choked - "On the pages of the book Lord Malfoy give you, Mistress. La-"  
  
"Lord...Malfoy?" Iphany asked, surprised at the blunt thud of hurt that accompanied her incredulity.  
  
"Yes, but he did n-"  
  
"Why would he poison me?" She whispered, beginning to tremble. The only explanation was that he, too, had gone mad, and that her mother had been right all those years ago. Men truly could not be around Sirens and not desire them to the point of real psychosis. This would have been a pitiful, lonely thought were her very life not at stake. She could pine and wonder later. Now she needed to get out, and quickly.  
  
"Mistress, Lord Malfoy is not th-"  
  
"Shut UP, Blat, don't you dare go stupid on me and try to defend him. What am I going to do? Don't answer that. When...is that Mediwitch coming back?" She asked, forcing herself to stand shakily, one hand firmly wrapped around a bedpost. The half empty vial of pink liquid jogged her memory. What was this? Antidote? Or something to make her even sicker? It did not occur to her (for her brain truly had not completely recovered, and she was still operating under a fever) to question why Lord Malfoy would poison her and then send someone to help her recover. Besides, hadn't he been the one to give her the book? Her instantaneous, carnal and primitive reaction was to flee immediately. Now this wasn't such a grand idea either, as she could barely stumble to the window to check the progress of the sun. It appeared to be early dawn, perhaps nearing six in the morning. An idea struck her, and although it was not the quickest way to safety, it certainly beat waiting around for someone to bash her over the head or slip something into her drink again.She opened the window, barely even taking time to appreciate the softly scented, moist summer-night air. It stirred the stale, vapid atmosphere inside the bedroom and flirted gaily with her hanging canopies.  
  
"Miss Iphany, the Mediwitch is not coming back until nightfall, when it is time for your bath. But that is not it, I is trying-"  
  
"Fine, I bet they receive the owl before then. Besides, she's probably with him, too. Conspiring against me." Completely unmindful of her own ridiculous ramblings, Iphany stuck two fingers in her mouth and whistled.  
  
The soft egg blue of the morning sky was unblemished for several minutes, horizon spoiled by nothing but a few rogue, straggling stars. Iphany waited patiently. Diablo had never failed to come when her father called him, and she knew him to be lurking about here somewhere. She'd seen him watching her from the trees at night when she bathed, standing guard like a silent, raven-feathered sentry.  
  
Soon the stacatto flap of wings stuttered against the stillness of morning, and Iphany stepped back as Diablo sailed in through the open window. He lit on her dresser and hooted in greeting.  
  
"I knew you'd come, Diablo. I have a very, very important task for you." She said gravely, stepping over and gently stroking the owl's ebon tufted breast. Diablo blinked his liquid silver eyes very slowly, watching closely as Iphany tore around the bedroom looking for parchment and a quill.  
  
In the end she remembered that all of her school things, (including every roll of parchment she owned) were downstairs in the library. Cursing her lack of foresight, she knelt before the bed and tore a slash in the silken sheets with her teeth. She ripped off a five inch square (really, ovalish) section of fabric and spread it out on the dresser.  
  
Ink. Ink. Rummaging frantically around in the dresser, she produced an almost-dry well of green ink and a nubbed quill that was nearly too dull to write with.  
  
Blat, who through years of training and punishment knew she should obey her Mistress' ordinance of silence, could not hold back one last attempt at clearing Lord Malfoy's name.  
  
"Mistress Iphany, please listen to me. Lord Malfoy is not the o-"  
  
"Blat, I'm going to drop you out of that window. Shut. Your. Mouth." She bent over the swatch of silk and began writing. . . .  
  
"My God, look at this, Fudge! We finally have something on that slimy, no good excuse f-"  
  
"Calm down, Arthur. What is it?"  
  
Arthur Weasley, flushed a shade to match his hair, held up a slightly wrinkled piece of pale blue silk covered in writing. Cornelius Fudge didn't rise from his cluttered desk, choosing rather to allow the flustered younger wizard to approach him. He took the note from Arthur's trembling hand.  
  
"My name is Iphany Novara. I am staying with the Malfoy family. Lucius Malfoy has poisoned me and I am trapped in this house. Please send help as soon as possible." Fudge glanced up at Arthur over his spectacles. "Now, come along, Arthur, what if this is some kind of a joke? You know we get red flag owls in here all the time, and we send half our force to check out a ''dark wizard'' sighting in Liverpool and wind up in the middle of a field full of-"  
  
"But what if it's true, Mister Fudge? Everyone knows we put her with the Malfoys. If she turns up dead, they'll have two villains. Malfoy, and the Ministry." Arthur was positively glowing with excitement. It was no secret that he'd been trying to get something on the senior Malfoy since he had been pardoned and spared a fate in Azkaban. Fudge shook his head, realizing that Arthur was right.  
  
"Fine. Take Mullins, Pommier, Touchstone and Alexander. Cast to -stun-, for God's sake, don't kill him. We don't need anyone's blood on our hands. Oh, take Plodkin, too. Make her stay with the child at the Manor until we've set up a place. I'm sure she'll love that."  
  
"Yes, sir!" Arthur said.  
  
. . .  
  
Lucius sat before the fire, toying with the goblet of Floo powder. He had been debating contact with Lord Voldemort for the past half hour. It was not Narcissa's safety he feared for; as of now, she was the enemy. But if he admitted that the reason she had poisoned Iphany was because she was jealous, there would be questions as to why, exactly, Narcissa would have reason to be suspicious.  
  
And it was Merlin's honest truth that she really didn't have a motive behind her behavior. But Voldemort...he knew Lucius' soul (or, as some would say, lack thereof), his darkness and his weakness. Lucius was positive that one ill-placed blink would belie his every profession of disinterest in Iphany.  
  
Refraining from imparting the news of his wife's betrayal, however, could result in even bleaker ramifications. If Voldemort discovered that he had kept such vital information a secret, he would be completely convinced of Lucius' guilt.  
  
Narcissa needed to be punished. That was the bottom line. He could say that Draco had stopped eating for pining over the Sirenchild, that he had -  
  
"Ex plaudere!"  
  
The door to the parlor blasted open with a deafening roar and a flash of red light. Lucius stood immediately, whipping his wand from beneath his robes-  
  
But Arthur Weasley was one step ahead, and he shouted,"Expelliarmus!"  
  
Lucius was propelled backward, his back slamming hard against the rough brick ridge of the hearth. Half a dozen Ministry members swooped in on him like pale faced birds of prey. Arthur Weasley emerged as prominent in the group of wizards, a satisfied, smug look pasted on his piggish features. Lucius sneered, and was about to ask him if he was getting paid overtime for this impromptu raid when the doughy little man interrupted.  
  
"Lucius Malfoy, you are being charged for the attempted murdered of Ippnee- "  
  
"Iphany, you idiot. And what in the name of H-"  
  
"Iphany Novara. You will come with us now for questioning, or we will bring you with us...er, by whatever means are necessary." Arthur stammered. It was obvious this wasn't a role he filled very comfortably. But what he lacked in finesse, he made up for in wand power - all five of the wizards behind him had theirs raised and pointed directly at Lucius.  
  
"This is ridiculous, Arthur. Even for you. What makes you think I would try to kill my Goddaughter?" Lucius hissed, lifting himself to stand. Arthur gave face to another of his self-righteous grins and dug around in his robe pocket for a moment before producing the scrap of silk on which Iphany's letter was written.  
  
"Right here, Malfoy. A letter from that poor girl. We received it around noon today. Tried to poison her, did you? I always thought-"  
  
"I didn't try to poison her, Arthur. It was Narcissa! She's-"  
  
"Tell it to the Ministry, Lucius. Stupefy!"  
  
As they were dragging him for the door, Lucius Malfoy had the briefly passing thought that perhaps women in general were a complete waste of time. 


	17. Release

Song of the Siren : Release  
Song of the Siren : Release  
  
A/N : Thanks to Nolaiel, for her consistent support and nice reviews. More gratuitous praise to Regan, who is now and ever shall be my muse and inspiration. She is a cure-all for writer's block. In other news, my computer ate the entire last half of this chapter. I banged and cussed, but nothing happened. So I had to re-write it. I was sad. So, sorry if the last couple pages aren't up to snuff. I love y'all anyway.  
// Release //  
  
Had she not been the most gorgeous thing he'd ever seen, Draco Malfoy might have detested the presence of the Sirenchild. First she'd driven his mother daft - that in itself had been annoying, to say the least. He would have never thought that his mother would have been capable of something as covertly genius as dusting the pages of a book with Vedonia pollen. He had an inkling that it was something she'd been hoping to try for quite some time, and he would not have been surprised if eventually his father had fallen victim to the same ailment. Still, her absence meant that Draco would have to bear the brunt of his father's rage.  
  
Not that -that- was even an issue anymore, at least not for the time being. He glared silver daggers at the Ministry official seated in the parlor- chair across from him.  
  
"I'm telling you, my father didn't do it. It was my mother. She thought Iphany was trying to suck us into some kind of Siren-spell or something." Draco drawled, shooting a half-hearted glare over the officer's shoulder at Iphany, who was slumped on the couch. The dark haired beauty had her head in her hands, suffering a bout of dizziness that was only partially the fault of a slow recovery.  
  
The moment her father's owl had slipped through the window and out into the grapefruit colored sky, Blat had finally gotten out what's she'd been trying to say.  
  
"Mistress Iphany, it was Lady Narcissa!"  
  
Overexertion and realization had slammed into Iphany's chest, stripping her of her last store of energy and sending her crumpling to the floor again. She would not be awakened until the Ministry raided Malfoy Manor.  
  
Now the scope of her mistake was fully and completely realized. She and Draco sat in the second floor parlor room in the company of a Ms. Nina Plodkin, junior assistant in training to the co-coordinator of the illegal cultivation of dangerous plants and fungi.  
  
Ms Plodkin appeared to be very young and very nervous, quite obviously a bit intimidated by being in the presence of a Malfoy and a Siren. Even her Dict-o-quill trembled slightly as it recorded their statements.  
  
"Well, Draco, Iphany did send the Ministry an ow-"  
  
"And I've told you a hundred times - I made a mistake! I was frightened, still feverish. I know it wasn't Lord Malfoy." Iphany interrupted, speaking with as much feeling as her feathery voice would allow. The Dict-o-quill spun frantically, scritching furiously across the parchment to keep up with Iphany's heated proclamation.  
  
"That's fine, but it doesn't change the fact that someone in this house was growing Vedonia, which has been banned under the Poison Protection Act for nearly a hundred years. Someone in this family cultivated a very healthy crop underneath the rose bushes, and we intend to find out who." Ms. Plodkin replied smoothly, attempting to infuse the incensed youths with some measure of her convictions. Neither was so easily swayed.  
  
"I'm not stupid, Miss Plod. Growing dangerous plants earns nothing more than a nice fine and a weekly inspection by the Ministry. You people have been trying to get something on my father for years, and now you think you've got a perfect, petty chance." Draco replied, his voice a slightly softer pitched version of his father's - low, silky, and fraught with threat. He stole a glance at Iphany, whose face read little more than disdain for the incompetent Witch.  
  
Inside, she was mildly impressed. Draco was a great deal more imposing and intelligent than she had originally thought.  
  
Contempt for the Malfoys and their ward stripped Ms. Plodkin of her nerves, spurring her to smile almost complacently as she capped her quill.  
  
"That may be the case, Draco, but the inarguable truth remains that when it comes to your family, especially your father, the verdict is always guilty until proven innocent."  
  
Draco sneered nastily and rolled his eyes, but remained silent as he re- assumed his gracefully lazy slouch in the chair. Iphany, who'd had quite enough of this excitement, slipped out into the hall and made her way outside.  
  
. . .  
  
Arthur Weasley was not pleased. He stared sullenly through the visiglass window, watching Lucius Malfoy lounge in the small questioning room as though it were his own private study. Several hours and three Veritaserum treatments had indeed revealed that he was not the one responsible poisoning Novara girl.  
  
Oh, how Arthur had wanted to ask - "Are you a Death Eater, you arrogant bastard!" But there were strict guidelines governing the use of Veritaserum as a Ministry investigation tool. Even if he knew without a doubt that Lucius was one of those Muggle-murdering excuses for a Wizard, he was magically bound to only ask questions pertaining to the case at hand.  
  
As much as he hated, detested the thought - he knew he would have to let Lucius free. He had stalled as long as he could; all the while Lucius grew more and more obnoxious and angry. He demanded to be released from the time the Stupefy charm wore off, and was, at first, obstinately opposed to answering any questions. When he realized that his cooperation meant quicker freedom, though, he began to act in accordance.  
  
Arthur turned away, disgusted, as Fudge walked into the questioning room and clapped Lucius on the back. He could not hear what they were saying, but he imagined Fudge to be groveling and apologizing profusely for this inconvenience, begging forgiveness, all that sort of rubbish. They would keep an eye out for Narcissa; there was a Locarium on her now, and if she used any magic they would be able determine her exact location.  
  
Lucius breezed past Arthur as he crossed the hall, unable to contain a satisfied smirk that he directed fully at the eldest Weasley. He had half a mind not to say anything, but couldn't resist turning around and offering -  
  
"I'll see you on Monday, Weasley."  
  
And with that, he doffed a mockingly formal bow and Dissaparated.  
  
. . .  
  
Ms Plodkin was delivered from her duties as ''babysitter'' at eleven o'clock in the evening, as this was when Lucius stepped into the parlor and ordered her immediate evacuation. Draco greeted his father with an intense display of affection - a handshake and a curt nod.  
  
The entire ordeal had taken less than ten hours, and in that ten hours his anger at Iphany had twisted into something analogous to decadent fury. He had taken her in, fed her, given her a place to sleep - and then the silly little thing had gone and accused him of trying to kill her. He glanced around the parlor, ascertaining that the dumpy witch hadn't touched or broken anything, and then he strode out and towards the library.  
  
Little minx, he thought sullenly as he pulled the library door open. She could have put the entire family in very hot water with this little stunt - hell, one rogue question about Voldemort from Weasley could have incriminated him beyond question. And now Lucius had no doubt that the Dark Lord was fully cognizant of Iphany's accusations, and would probably be popping up in the fireplace a-  
  
"Lucius."  
  
The flames roared green in the parlor-hearth, and Lucius felt a dry sense of irony as he turned to face the Dark Lord's head bobbing in the fire. He crossed the berth of the library in six swift strides and knelt on the stone hearth.  
  
"Yes, my Lord?" He asked, his tone comically dry in the wake of this laughably immeasurable chaos.  
  
"What has happened to you, Lucius? Macnair just-"  
  
Lucius took a gambling chance and cut him off. "It's all taken care of, My Lord. The girl was still half-crazy with fever when she wrote the Ministry. She hadn't the sense yet to realize that it was Narcissa who poisoned the book. I went in for questioning, obviously they found nothing, and they released me. I suspect Weasley was the one most strongly behind my detainment. At any rate, they've put a Locarium on Narcissa, and my guess is that it won't be very long before she forgets herself and uses magic." Lucius sat back, watching Voldemort's expressionless, disembodied face as he took in this imparted explanation.  
  
"My guess, Lucius, is that we'll catch her before those soft handed imbeciles do, and I'll be able to deal with her myself." Voldemort replied, limning his thin lips into a sneer. Lucius nodded in acquiescence and opened his mouth to respond, but Voldemort's voice droned on in disruption.  
  
"No, I'm not so much worried about Narcissa. She is a stupid, brash, impertinent woman who will eventually orchestrate her own demise. What concerns me is that fact that she was so jealous that she felt the need to put herself and her entire family in jeopardy. What could have possibly spurred her to do something that irrational, I wonder? Surely you've not given her reason to be suspicious, have you?"  
  
"Of course not, my Lord. I believe her main irritant was Draco. You see, he has been most grievously affected my Miss Novara's presence here. He can't eat, he won't sleep, he haunts her every footsteps - not unexpected behavior, of course, but I think it pained Narcissa to see her son pay so much attention to a girl." Lucius was fervently hopeful that his explanation was a credible one. He knew that if Voldemort were aware of how much time he'd spent with Iphany (thought it was innocent), there would be unavoidable consequences. Much to his relief, the Dark Lord sighed reprovingly and shook his head.  
  
"Alright, Lucius. I am trusting that nothing of this sort will ever happen again. Keep an eye on Draco. Send him away, if you must. Don't let him near her. You know what I'll do to him if he touches her, don't you?"  
  
"Yes, My Lord."  
  
"Good. Keep a close watch on her, then. Don't let her send out any more owls."  
  
"Yes, My Lord. Anything you say."  
  
Voldemort's pallid, pointed countenance faded into the green flames, and Lucius heaved a sigh of relief. Close - he could feel the threat of a nervous stutter on his words; another moment of interrogation might have revealed something other than thinly layered nonchalance. This had been a day that, had he not been under close Ministry supervision, might have been made better by poking around at whatever was chained to the table in the dungeon. As it were, he wasn't stupid. And besides, the last Mudblood had proven very uncooperative from the start.  
  
He was immensely grateful that the Siren had better sense than to come into the library tonight. A feeling of spiky, toothy wrath still gnawed faithfully at his gut at the thought of her, a feeling only dulled (well, might as well call it sharpened) by the everpresent memory of her features lit in orange firelight. But that was a memory he could do without. Perhaps if he admitted everything to Lord Voldemort, there would be some kind of spell that could...  
  
Exhaustion as heavy as fog slid from his eyes to his toes, and he lifted himself to settle in the chair to the left of the fire. Just for a moment, he thought sluggishly as his eyelids drifted closed. As darkness sustained a gentle hold on his wearied brain, he heard her voice coming from a few yards away.  
  
"That was Lord Voldemort, wasn't it?"  
  
Lucius was instantly awake and rigid as a coiled cobra, heart shocked into rapid beating at the surprise of being roused so suddenly. Iphany stood behind the chair, her small hands resting on the top and her chin nested along the ridge of her knuckles. That comfortable scarlet sentiment choked Lord Malfoy of words for a moment - he could not believe she thought him amenable to *chatting* with her, as though nothing had happened.  
  
"What are you doing in here? I could kill you for what you did. Get out."   
  
She did not obey, coming from around the back of the chair and taking a few steps forward. Lucius fought to keep from staring - why on earth would a ch- a child wear something that provocative? She was sleek and seductive in a strappy nightdress of oilslick dark, shining black hair a softly waved curtain that tickled the very top curve of her hips. Now, wait...he was angry. Furious! He stood suddenly, grabbing her slim white shoulders and shaking her viciously.  
  
"You could have risked the exposure of our side - our cause. A decade's work, gone in an instant - and why would you think I poisoned you, you stupid little girl! I-"  
  
But...her hands were on his chest, pushing gently. He stepped back, felt the chair hit the indention of his knees as his mouth fought to form coherent words, something to express his outrage. She kept pushing, lips curved in a soft, infuriating smile. He sat down hard in the chair, and she slipped into his lap, one leg thrown astride either of his hips.  
  
"I'm not a little girl." She said. She brought her lips to his, dared him to argue. He did not. Her mouth was on his with a sudden hotness he had not anticipated, and it was without any thought that she wrapped his arms around her and drew her closer. She rocked forward, ground her hips against his - Lucius made a very odd sound into her mouth -  
  
His eyes snapped open as he sat up awake - sans a lapful of Siren. The fire blazed innocently in the hearth and he looked down and saw that his hands were trembling without heed. His entire lower body was wound tight and heavy with heat - he shook his head several times to clear the dream.  
  
Enough. Enough of this! He wasn't quite certain what it was he planned to do, but he stood suddenly and with such force that he knocked his chair (all eighty five pounds of it) so that it went smashing to the ground. Oh, how he wanted to hate her, wanted to ignore the brightly burned vision of her face on the backs of his eyelids, the soft memory of her voice as it hissed and giggled beneath his every drawn breath. He would go to her - find her, wherever she was - and then what? Parallel to his thoughts of Cursing her until she begged for mercy was the distinct vision of driving her against a wall and taking her again and again with the same breed of passion. Now he no longer cared to differentiate between the two - he only knew that every tiny sparking nerve in his body sizzled even with the dream- memory of her skin, and that kind of energy had to be expended. Quickly, at that.  
  
And his mind - his human, rational, educated mind told him he was stupid and foolish and she was not his to desire or loathe, and that he must bind her, gag her, do whatever it took to shut out her presence and protect her from himself. He would resist, he would prevail, he would not succumb to the imaginary whims of some half-human youngling.  
  
It must be said, however, that no human man has ever been able to resist the temptation of a Siren. And Lucius Malfoy was most definitely a human man.  
  
He tore across the library floor and flung the doors open, preparing to launch himself into the hall and to her room, or outside, where-ever she was.  
  
Soon, he discovered, this would not be necessary. For Iphany was standing at the door, revealed as he jerked them open, her hand fisted and poised to knock. Her face was comically shocked as she stepped back, stammering nervously.  
  
"I-"  
  
"Shut up." He said, and in the defining moment of kiss or kill, he took her by the wrists, spun her, and pinned her to the wall. "You're right." He said, tracing the line of her jaw with his lips in a moment of tenderness. "You are not a little girl."  
  
And then he crushed his mouth to hers, blocking all thought and reason for time out of mind. 


	18. Flight

Song of the Siren : Flight  
  
A/N : I hate sunburns. Sorry for short chappie.  
  
// Flight //  
  
Much later, when Iphany was reflecting on her first "encounter" with the Lord of Malfoy Manor, she would never be able to truly align the series of events that led to her leg being wrapped around his waist and a set of teeth grazing the exposed curve of her breast. It was all a blur of heat and motion - one moment she was preparing to rap politely on the library door, and the next she was pressed against the wall and being introduced to serious kissing. It felt like an hour, but it must have been only half a minute before she heard herself saying -  
  
"Stop!" in a voice that was low and rasping and not at all her own. And his response, muffled and desperate as he drew an arm around her and pulled her closer.  
  
"I can't."  
  
He kissed her again, and Iphany (all at once, a dam breaking) felt something break and unwind inside of her - warm and silvery like moonlight, a fire that spread the length of her body.  
  
Then the liquid, delicious feeling slowed, suddenly carrying with it an onslaught of memories and the torrent of sensations that accompanied them. Fear, betrayal, pain - abandonment and awful, wretched sadness as deep as forever. The fraying spell Ilia Novara had cast upon her daughter had finally unraveled.  
  
Iphany wrenched free of Lord Malfoy's grasp, choking out a wordless sob as she reared back and slapped him, hard, across the cheek.  
  
She hadn't the time to see the look of shock and rage on his face, as the moment her palm connected with flesh, he released her and she bolted down the hall. Where she was going - what she planned to do - nothing seemed more important than getting away from him, now, avoiding both the wrath she knew her action would incur and escaping the blistering heat of his hands on her body.  
  
She ran and ran, around corners and through hallways as long as the house itself, sobbing blindly and stumbling and swatting wild things she could not see. How she found her way outside could never be guessed, but she came back to herself after several minutes and realized that she was running due north down a dirt road. Winded and terrified, she looked up at the moon, grinning fatly in a cloudless sky. In four days time it would be full.  
  
Now she had no choice but to keep running, even though her throat was dry and her entire body convulsed with forgotten pain half a decade old. After a time, the dirt road met a paved one, flanked on one side by thick brambly woods and by wide, moonlit field on the other. Her feet were sore and swollen from striking the roughly hewn dirt path, and she was finally forced to slow her pace. She walked briskly, looking always ahead at the path winding and weaving through the countryside like a glittery jet ribbon.  
  
Having never seen such a thing as pavement before, Iphany paused after some minutes and glanced down for the first time, as if she had just now noticed that the surface she walked upon was hard and black and flecked with tiny stones. She knelt, touching her fingertips carefully to the asphalt. No name came to her for this strange material, but it was faintly warm with the memory of the sun, and she felt strangely safe traveling by its mark.  
  
She kept the matter fueling her flight a distant recollection; in fact, she wasn't entirely convinced that it wasn't someone else's swift, passionate encounter she was remembering. Besides, the thought made her insides contract and her eyes water, and again turned the key that unlocked Pandora's box.  
  
Iphany walked and walked until her lungs burned and her stride was reduced to a painful, pregnant limp.  
  
"Stupid," She chastised herself, looking down at her bare feet. "The least you could have done was grab a pair of shoes." That would, however, have required staying in...in that place for five minutes longer than she cared to expend. And...it would have given Him time to catch her and make her tremble beneath his touch again.  
  
Iphany's mind, like her feet, was bruised and rent by sharp thought and gravelly, gray memory. Now she was able to truly understand what had happened to her all those years ago on that night her father cursed her and left her to suffer. In a dream, the spirit of her mother had somehow cast a spell to freeze her heart and make her entire mind as blank and malleable as clay. From then and after, Iphany realized, she had been a stranger to any emotion deeper than fear and anger. And even those, she thought grimly, had always seemed hollow, like pale weeping ghosts of proper feeling. The peace she felt beneath the moonlight was a transitory reprieve, and she knew now that the person she became when she sand (sultry, joyous and free) was who she was in fact meant to be.  
  
You see, Sirens are creatures of pure love and passion and bliss; to take these away leaves only a hardened chrysalis as brittle and dead as old skin. It is, of course, a beautiful chrysalis, but an empty one all the same.  
  
And Iphany, who had never been allowed to experience sorrow or pain, was now briskly walking bundle of volatile emotion. She fought the skirmish against another onslaught of tears and was bitterly defeated, finally giving her tired legs a rest when she fell to her knees and wept anew.  
  
She did not know how long she knelt on the road that bit meanly into her knees and shins. Dimly realizing that it had grown colder and that she was shivering, she struggled to her feet and shook her clouded head. The wind yawned and stretched, sifting whispery fingers through the treetops and toying sweetly with Iphany's unbound hair. She closed her eyes for a moment, lifted her hands to the sky and beamed a watery smile up at the stars.  
  
Then something caught her attention - far up ahead on the road, two yellow lights blinked as they traveled over the hill. Curious, she watched the lights draw closer and closer, obviously attached to something that was moving very fast. Curiosity dissolved into panic as the light closed in on her and revealed themselves to be the headlights of a large red metal box on wheels. Car, Iphany thought suddenly as she scrambled off the road in the wake of the vehicle's piercing horn. Car...now where did that word come from? She wondered briefly, tearing into the bushes and crouching as low as she could. She heard the car slow and stop - a door opened - footsteps clonked on the pavement. Iphany bit back the terror that leapt into her throat, trying to keep very still and small as the tall shadowed figure approached. It paused several yards from her hiding spot and blindly searched the darkness.  
  
" Oy there! Wot are you doin'?" Came a voice, distinctly male and heavy with an accent Iphany found harsh and unclean. She didn't respond, burying her face in her hands to muffle the sound of her breathing.  
  
"Better stay outta th'road, you." The voice warned, pausing another moment before returning to the car.  
  
Iphany waited until long after the puttering sound of the engine died away before venturing back out onto the road. Now she remembered ''car'' from long ago, something one of her tutors had said about Muggles and transportation. It was at this that she cursed again her lack of foresight; a broom would have been priceless right now.  
  
She strained her eyes in the direction from which the vehicle came. Along the horizon there was a faint, yellowish glow, as though a thousand candles were held flush to the black lip of the sky. A city, she thought, tingling excitement surging through her at the thought of real live civilization. She would rest here, camouflaged by the thick foliage until daylight crept in. And then she could make for the city lights - tomorrow. Tomorrow would be the first day of her new life, ungoverned by the selfishness of everyone who thought they knew best for her.  
  
She picked her way through tangled underbrush, clearing a small space in the grass. Her cloak she spread across the grass in a wide satin arc, just enough room for her to settle and curl herself into a tight ball.  
  
For some reason she felt unaccountably safe sleeping outside. She did not fear the unknown things lurking in the forest - in fact, her only adverse thought before drifting off to sleep was the hope that no more cars drove by tonight.  
  
. . .  
  
The next morning, Iphany awoke stiff, cold, and covered with a thin layer of dawnish dew. The ambiance of hope and escape had faded with the moonlight - now she was left with the harsh edge of reality. She was stuck, so to speak, in the middle of nowhere without a scrap of food and no clue what she planned on doing once she reached the city at the edge of the horizon. She had no way of knowing that the town was actually a good fifty miles from where she stood, and that she would spend another night shivering in the woods before reaching her destination.  
  
And had she known that, she might not have started out again. The sun was warm and golden as it butter-spread across the field over the road, slithering through through angled trees and smearing light across her face. Iphany smiled. It was the first time in five years she had welcomed the sun. 


	19. Emerge

Song of the Siren : Emerge

A/N : I just printed out this story, and it is 61 pages long. I am impressed with myself. :D Thanks to loyal reviewers – you keep me going!

// Emerge //

By noon, Iphany was hot, sweaty, aching and exhausted. She had long since shed her silk cape and outer robe for the satin shift beneath, and even that clung to her body in sticky, wet places. The town, which had seemed so glowingly close the previous evening, was quite obviously another thirty miles from where she stood.

The idea of independence had become vastly diminished in the time it took for her to realize that there was no way she could take another step. Dazed by the heat and wincing with each swollen footstep, she trudged into the forest, where the light thinned and it was immeasurably cooler. She sat beneath the largest of a cluster of trees, coolish green shadow tapering from the arms and boughs of the great, old oak. Even though she'd slept a reasonable (if not broken) amount last night, she felt as though every ounce of energy had already seeped from her body. Her skin – it felt...oh, what was it...like burning. She lifted her forearm and squinted at the alarming tinge of pink her flesh had taken.

Oh, what she wouldn't give to be back at the Manor now, tucked away in the soft gray darkness of the library (watching him watching her, his sharp gray eyes quicksilver piercing in the dim), or wading through the indoor jungle-pool. With that she started sleepily – what was she supposed to do tonight? Something told her she was a thousand miles from the nearest shore – unless it rained or she found a significant source of water, this entire foray into the wonders of self-sufficiency would be abruptly unpleasant.

She closed her eyes and pondered this, mind swimming lazily through her invisible options. There was always the possibility of flagging down one of the cars that had been zipping by periodically throughout the day and inquiring where the nearest...

"Oh, what, Iphany? Hullo, there. Could you direct me to the nearest ocean? Just a tic, let me get something to write with." She said crossly aloud, absently shredding at the grass with the fingers of her left hand. Her voice fell oddly flat in the near-silent wood, snatched away by a blessedly cool gust of wind.

Iphany inhaled deeply of the fragrant breeze, jolting fully away when she recognized...something...some scent she knew, a softness heavy and wet and redolent of...

"Water." She whispered, rising creakily from her lean against the tree. Her eyes closed again and she stretched out her hand, fingers still damp from sifting through the dew-moist forest floor grasses.

An inexplicable pull seized her fingers, like magnets meeting or starlight drawing gazers from indoors. She felt her feet begin to move, slowly at first, and then with a sureness akin to the knowledge of a well-traveled path. She heard the stream crashing over rock and curve of land before long, and opened her eyes to the green halflight breaking over the water.

A smile bloomed on her face, and she moved to kneel on the gritty pebble scattered shore of the stream. The water was extraordinarily cold and moving swiftly over the rocks – from where Iphany was standing, it looked to be about three feet deep at its apex. This would be perfect.

Standing up and peering along the track the stream took, it seemed that it wound endlessly through the woods, finally disappearing around a bend. She glanced back in the direction that she came and could still see the blacktop of the road gleaming faintly through the trees. The stream appeared to run parallel to the street, at least for a few miles. As long as she kept it in sight, she could follow the water until night fell and have a place to swim and sleep.

Placated by this thought and heartened immeasurably, she took her path along the stream; soft grasses a much more comfortable surface to follow than rough paved road. She walked for several more hours, pausing here and there to examine oddly blooming fruit dotting strange little shrubby bushes. As hungry as she was, something told her that picking off random flora and making a meal of it wasn't the wisest course of action. She could get something to eat in town when she arrived. Nevermind that she hadn't a sickle to her name, and her appearance was bound to stir up some trouble. After all, when full clothed (which right now she wasn't, having removed her robes for her slip in favor of its lightweight fabric) she presented a sight to which most Muggles where not accustomed.

Now, she did not know that she town she was to happen upon was a halpher - (half Muggles and half Wizards, the Wizarding side only accessible through a small tunnel found in the girl's restroom of Enola's Pub.) – in fact, she hadn't even considered what it would be like to actually find herself in a city. Naivety chuckled pleasantly on Iphany's behalf. In all honesty, she had no clue as to what she was getting herself into. 

But that didn't stop her from humming softly as she followed the stream, checking periodically to make sure the road was still visible through the trees. She felt safer this way, she wasn't forced to dash and roll and hide inside the trees every time the sun picked a gleam of metal off the hood of an oncoming car. Worst were the ones coming from the opposite direction; those she did not register until almost too late, and more than once was forced to scramble off the side of the road in time to feel the wind of the car's passage.

(An interesting side note stands that everyone who passed down the highway towards Briarcourn that day will always tell stories about the strange girl they saw darting in and out of the trees. Most were superstitious enough to call it "ghost," But one or two knew the faint word tickling the backs of their throats wasn't ghost at all, but something even more dangerous.) 

Iphany was just fifteen miles out of town when she finally succumbed to darkness and the desire to swim. The stream had been faithful to the road up until this point, for here at a juncture of crumbling large rocks and slick moss it took a turn and delved deeper into the forest. She was not hesitant about lifting her damp nightdress over her head and draping it over an overhanging bough. There hadn't been a single sign of human life in these woods the entire day, she doubted she'd be so unlucky as to run into one now.

The water, swift moving and colder than she expected, took her breath away as she slid in. None of that mattered, however, because in the next moment she caught a glimpse of the moon (spiderwebbed and slightly obscured by the black tangling fingers of a overhead limbs) and the sirensong rose to meet the wind. The water rose up to just below her breasts, rushing past and carrying its own song to augment hers. Being out in nature, albeit not the kind to which she was indigenous, brought out a more primal instinct in Iphany. This was nothing like wading around in the conjured pond at the back of Malfoy Manor – this made her feel wild, not entirely human.

So enthralled by the feeling was she that she made no note of the slowly approaching footsteps, did not register the hovering shadow looming over the pond until it was upon her. 

Had it been daylight when she stopped at this bend, she'd have seen the small cottage tucked just to the right of where the brook bent into the woods. 

She choked off her song when she finally looked up the stream-bed and saw the dazed, enamored looking human sticking out his hand in offering. Iphany shrieked and scrambled up on shore, instinctively reaching for her cloak and robes and slip dangling over the stream. Though she could not see a face in the darkness, her blood pulsed with the stranger's desire, as if she knew what he wanted (and she was certain it was a he, she could smell him somehow). She slapped the cloak around her body and ran, choking back a shriek when she heard the man splashing through the water and scrambling up on the opposite bank to chase her.

Ducking around a tree and scrambling painfully through a tangle of briars, she felt her heart drumming against her ribs in bloodrush panic. The footsteps behind her were almost uncertain; in truth, men do not see in the dark like Sirens can, and after a time Iphany had made enough sharp turns and quick ducking shimmies that she was sure she'd lost her pursuer. Breathing harshly, she slid to the ground at the request of legs that had decided enough was enough.

As tired as the escape should have made her, she was quite infused with energy from swimming once the initial shock of the chase wore off. Right now was the best time, if any, to try and make it to the city. Thankfully, foresight had kept her running in a direction conducive to discovering the road again. She shrugged back into the now slightly filthy, torn slip and pulled her robe on in spite of the cloying heat. The lights in the distance were almost discernable now as squat little buildings and clustered flats. 

Briarcourn was not a metropolitan place by any stretch of the imagination, merely a throwback from the ancient days when tiny settlements sprung up like wildflowers around larger cities like London. The Wizarding segments were deftly hidden and connected by tunnels and side-roads, all of which produced a strange sensation of lateness if happened upon by a Muggle. 

Iphany froze perfunctorily when she saw her shadow darken and lengthen courtesy of an oncoming car. This time, instead of panicking and hiding in the forest, she stepped politely off the side of the road and waited for the car to pass. If the driver of the car was female she could ask for a ride (providing that they stopped to converse) and if it was male, she could run pell-mell into the woods as she'd done before. 

True to her prediction, the small car whizzed past her, slowed, and then stopped. The faint slide and scrape of the window rolling down was a swift precursor to a (feminine!) voice meeting Iphany's ears.

"Are you lost, love?"

Iphany jogged to the driver's side, slowing as she approached and holding out a hand in greeting. 

"I need a ride to town, can you take me?" She asked, politesse an ancient thing in the face of not having to –walk- anymore. The woman driving (older, a measure of shock and sadness scrawling across her features as she took in the young girl's classic heartstopping beauty) nodded and gestured to the back seat with her thumb.

"Hop in, then."

Iphany complied without a word, sliding in to the back seat of the car and slamming the door shut behind her. The car jolted forward and she felt a stab of mild fear, having seen how terribly fast these things could go made her momentarily doubt her decision. Silence stretched tight for several minutes as the driver (Amaryl Wall) snuck secret glances at her passenger, who was dressed very oddly and looked like no girl she had ever seen before. Attempts at conversation were futile, as the black-haired girl didn't seem to want to impart any information about her destination, her purpose or even her name. The drive into Briarcourn was a quick one, marked by Iphany's staunch refusal to look out the window at the trees and road whizzing nauseatingly past. 

Amaryl released her charge at the mouth of Chesimap Boulevard, nodding at the girl's gracious 'thank you' and pulling quickly away from the curb. She would never be able to place why the girl made her feel so odd, and as she never saw her again, decided in her later years that the entire incident had been the imagined result of premature senility.

Meanwhile, Iphany was feeling the first effects of panic as she watched the cars trundle by her and the people milling singularly around on the streets. It was just past ten, so there were not many about, but the ones who were gave Iphany the strangest looks and whispered madly behind raised hands. She felt like a bird on display and quickly discerned that being on the street was the quickest way to attract a lot of unwanted attention. The nearest shop was closed, so she walked a bit until coming to a small, dingy looking building with windows blackened by dirt and age. A small, spitting neon sign proclaimed "Enola's" above the doorway.

Why Iphany chose this particular establishment can never really be understood. Perhaps, as it does, Fate intervened in a moment of decision that would have otherwise been ignored. Whatever brought her to this very instant of choice also shoved in the middle of a roomful of slightly inebriated wizards and witches and three ignorant Muggles.

Thirty-two eyes turned to the young woman entering the pub. All conversation ceased, one or two people (men) stopped breathing. Even the bartender, a grizzled old man named Alvis Andrus, paused in his glass polishing to gawk at the disheveled beauty.

One by one, people started whispering, and Iphany felt her skin begin to crawl. She took a seat immediately, sliding in to an empty booth just to the right of the door. 

There was no kindness in the air. This is the constant curse of the Siren – people do not trust them, and probably never will. It is as though the ancient hatred and fear never really died, that ingrained in all humans (like a need for love, shelter, and food) is an intense loathing for what they do not understand. Even though no one really knew that the dark haired female was in fact not entirely human, something woke in them and they instinctively turned from her. The only attention she received were sudden, hopeful guilty glances from the men.

Iphany did not know how long she sat in the pub, unattended and alone and shivering with sudden hopelessness. She had no money, no food, no family and obviously no one willing to help her. The thought of returning to Malfoy Manor infused her with a trembling kind of...by the Moon, what was that feeling? Beneath the fear, of course, was something she hadn't known, something awoken and sharpened by her sudden new state of experience. It made her feel unaccountably hot and squirmy, and for some reason she could not get the unwavering image of Lord Malfoy's face to leave her alone. Every time she closed her eyes she saw him again, looming and imposing and sedu-

"You're one of us, dear?" Came a whispering voice above her, and she looked up. A small woman, perhaps in her early seventies, was smiling down at Iphany. She had narrow, almond shaped eyes, silver hair pulled into a bun and a small, laughing mouth. She looked comfortable and kind. Glancing up awkwardly, Iphany nodded.

The woman hunkered down in the seat across from her, groaning and mumbling at creaky bones. Iphany watched in passive silence, waiting for her to speak.

"What's your name?" The woman asked, studying her with serious little black eyes. They sparkled oddly, like obsidian set in a lined light caramel face.

"Iph...uh...Pearl." She stammered, realizing a moment too late that giving her real name might not be such a good idea. The woman frowned and shook her head.

"Ifapearl?That's odd. Who-"

"No, no. Just Pearl." Iphany smiled, glancing down at her hands. Dirt was packed neatly under her nails and several long scratches covered her palms. She quickly stuck her hands in her lap and looked abashedly back at her companion.

"Ah, Pearl. My name is Ling Yuri. You're a –" (her voice dropped at this) "witch, aren't you?" 

"Yes, I am."

Ling was quiet, gazing contemplatively at the young woman before her. One snowy brow arched as she took in her wearied expression and slightly torn robes. (Obviously expensive when considering the heavy sewn fabric and etching done about the seams of her cloak.)

"You should not be in place like this, child. Dangerous people, dangerous place. Especially for one like you." 

Iphany froze – could she tell she was a Siren?

"Like me?" She echoed stupidly, trying to keep the worry off her face.

"Beautiful. Young. So obvious that you do not know what you are doing, or where you are going. Many people would be glad to take advantage of pretty girl with no sense. Where are you from?"

Iphany bristled at "no sense", but decided to keep her mouth shut. She shrugged at Ling's question, toying complacently with the folds of her robe.

"Don't know? Hm. You are running away, then. I don't ask why. Not my business." Ling chuckled and leaned forward, grabbing Iphany's chin. Her grip was surprisingly solid for one appearing so frail. Iphany was forced to make eye contact, and she did so with some obvious hesitation. Ling studied her for several long moments, and then released her and sighed.

"Something different about you, Pearl. Not sure what, but different. It makes me sad to look at your eyes." Ling commented almost absently as she rose from the table and patted her on the shoulder. "You come with me. I show you into Stregamon, yes? Yes. Come. Come with me."

The old Asian woman shuffled towards the door, and for some inexplicable reason, Iphany felt compelled to follow. They walked (slowly, for Ling was in fact a great deal older than seventy) through the bar room, past the fresh round of gaping stares. Ling led her through a door that opened into a narrow, low-ceilinged hallway and then into the lady's bathroom. Iphany grew increasingly more confused and doubtful about this woman's sanity, especially when she puttered into one of the stalls and kicked the toilet twice.

"Miss Yuri, what-"

"Oh, dear. It must be the other one. Always forget. Hah! Here it goes. I know I'm not so forgetful yet!"

Iphany had stopped listening, and her eyes had gone rather wide. The toilet, sliding and scraping, was sinking quickly into the ground. In its place was a great gaping hole and...a flight of stairs? Ling descended without hesitation, motioning with one hand for Iphany to follow. The Siren grew immediately obstinate, crossing her arms defiantly over her chest as she watched the elderly woman walk down the stairs.

"No, I don't believe I'll be walking down toilet-stairs, Miss Yuri. You go right on without me."

Ling turned around and squinted up at Iphany, her nose wrinkling. 

"You come down here with me, or stay out there with them. I give you food, place to sleep if you want. They give you mean faces and ugly words.  Trust me, or trust them."

In the end it was fear, not trust, that drove Iphany to her decision. Reluctantly stepping down into the hold, she followed Ling's path as the stairs wound downward. There was light at the bottom, welcoming and tinged with a faint yellowish glow. Iphany's heart thudded frantically in her chest, though fear dwindled almost immediately as they bottomed out at the base of the staircase and Iphany got her first glimpse of Stregamon.

"Ah! Hah! Here we are. Follow me, little miss Pearl, and don't you talk to any body. My place right around here."

There were dozens and dozens of buildings smushed together in rows, some appearing as though they were on the verge of collapse, some artfully designed and built like miniature castles. Each had a swinging sign that jutted out over the cobbled streets – a few Iphany glimpsed as they passed – Balthazar's Books, Poppyzhan Pub – Everything from wand shops to clothing stores, apothecaries and produce stands. Iphany's head swam with the sights and sounds and she was immensely glad when Ling paused before a smaller building with a sign that proclaimed – "Le Swankie," (and in smaller letters) "Stregamon's oldest eating establishment."

Ling ushered her inside and withdrew her wand, holding it a lot in the darkened room as they walked through. At this point Iphany patted her robe pocket and realized that she still had her wand, and hadn't had enough forethought to use it this entire time. 

Ling brought Iphany to a table and sat her down, shooing her protests as she waved her wand about and a plate came sailing from in the darker recesses of the restaurant. It wasn't until Ling tapped the dish twice with her wand and an array of food appeared that Iphany realized how hungry she was. She did not stop to think that there was no meat, only a pile of vegetables and a thick, fragrantly seasoned slab of some fish. Ling nodded and watched as Iphany almost inhaled the food, plowing through half the vegetables and all of the fish before leaning back and heaving a contented sigh. She looked up at Ling, almost embarrassed at her gluttony. The older woman merely smiled and motioned at her.

"Come. I give you clean clothes, show you spare room. You stay here tonight, yes? At least tonight. You need rest. Yes."

No longer inclined to argue, Iphany followed wordlessly. It was too dark to discern the size and shape of her surroundings, and she was not able to see much of what was around her until Ling brought her up the stairs and into a small, cozy bedroom.

It certainly wasn't anything like her suite at Malfoy Manor. The floors were scrubbed dull, the bed was narrow, and the room was so tiny she could have crossed it in six great strides. Still...Iphany smiled and looked back at Ling.

Or, would have, if the tiny woman hadn't gone and disappeared already. Iphany checked down the corridor and found it empty as well. Hmm. Shrugging to herself, she stepped inside her own quarters and pulled the door softly shut. It smelled faintly of roses, as though someone had just removed a fresh dozen from the windowsill. She wandered about the room for a bit, checking the drawers and finding a store of clothing that was all more or less of one size. She drew out a long, billowy nightdress that looked like it would fit and lay it on the bed. Before shedding her own filthy garments she extracted her wand and laid it carefully on the dresser.

An adjacent door lead to a bathroom, complete with an ancient-looking claw-footed bathtub. Iphany was so tired that she almost went to bed dirty, but the thought of spending the entire night with the smell of road dust and sweat on her skin made her cringe. Her bath was quick, a thorough scrubbing with soap and a swift lavender rinse for her hair. 

She stepped out feeling markedly better, and for the first time tired after an encounter with water. God, had that crazy woman put something in her food to make her sleep? At any rate, she wasn't going to complain. She slid between the soft cotton sheets, and her last sight before sleep was of the moon peeking demurely through frilly lace curtains. Her dreams were sweet and sustained, free of torment or clenching anguish. She was, for once, and not for long, at peace.


	20. Drained

Song of the Siren : Drained

A/N : Woohoo! Twenty chapters! (And I am only half-way through!! )

 On a side note, someone asked me how I made up my spell names and towns. Shallycob wanted to exist; the name popped into my head before I had even considered what I was going to name Iphany's Island. Briarcourn was harder, as I had considered going with the actual town in England called Hartcourt-saint-Claire's-in the wold, (shortened to Hartcourt or Hart Sinclair, I believe. I could be wrong.)But since I don't know a lot about England, I decided to stick with something of my own fabrication. Stregamon is a clever twist on languages, any of you who know Italian will know that "Strega" is witch. 

My spells are a mix of Latin and Greek translations, which I think are generally the way Miss Rowling does it. Some of her words are pure nonsense, and others have roots in Latin and Greek. Mine are usually the same way. Thank you, Drive Through!

// Drained //

Lucius Malfoy, who did **not **get distraught, was the closest to panic he'd ever been in his life. Iphany had been gone for two days, and his Locarium spell either wasn't working because he'd preformed it incorrectly or because she hadn't thought to use magic yet. He hovered expectantly over the small, clear stone bowl full of water, jumping at every shadow of movement or faint wind-kissed ripple. Nothing could have prepared him for what had happened when he kissed her – it was a foolish, stupid, carnal thing to do, and he regretted it now. Well, perhaps regret wasn't the best word to use. Because there was no regret for the feeling of her smooth, warm skin beneath his, the pliant softness of her mouth, or the scent of her that still lingered on the tips of his fingers. Regret – no, call it cursing hindsight. He was also wavering between outright rage at the silly little girl for running and cursing himself for going out of control. '_I can't', _He remembered, his answer to her pleas of cessation. Rubbish – _can't_ meant he refused to try, or didn't care enough at that moment to give much effort.

He stalked toward the window, agitation and the strain of fatigue limning his every movement.  The only sleep he'd gotten in the last seventy-two hours was the five-minute nap in the chair by the fire, and even that had been fitful. But he could not rest, not until she was found. If Lord Voldemort knew she was gone...no. He would not think on that. Sooner or later she would use magic, and he had every hope that his Locarium would pick it up and give him her location. As it were, there was only one place she could go – Briarcourn was the closest town, and it was at least fifty miles from the manor. He could not fathom that she would make it so far in just two days, unless some passing Muggle gave her a ride –

_That_ thought was sickening, as he could only imagine what would happen if she climbed in a car with some stupid Muggle man. He was surprised at the surge of fiery, possessive jealously lighting on his skin at the idea of another man touching her. Breaking fingers and severing sensitive organs would not be enough. 

As much as he wanted to go to Briarcourn and Stregamon to search for her, there would be no-one about to watch the Locarium charm. He half-wanted to trust Draco to do it, but he couldn't be certain that the foolish little boy wouldn't fall asleep or get bored with his task and abandon it.

So that left him with the straggling option of remaining idle, something he detested more than anything else. It was nearing dawn now; in a few hours the sun would rise and bathe the manor in gracious golden light.

He was not looking forward to it.

. . .

Iphany stretched, yawned, stretched again. It took her a full five minutes to truly wake up, and when she did, she lay quietly in the bed for another fifteen. Oddly, she wasn't disoriented or confused. She knew exactly where she was the moment her eyes opened, and she felt...safe. For the first time in her life, she didn't have one ear cocked for footsteps or shouting. It was a pleasant feeling.

Missing, though, was the decadent thrill of being afraid, of not knowing how long Lord Malfoy would tolerate her presence before expelling her from the library again. Not knowing where his hands where going, whether or not the teasing scrape of his teeth would –

"You stop that, right now." She said crossly as she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up. The last thing she needed was to be glorifying what was in reality a disturbing experience. Very disturbing, she thought seriously. Very –

"Hallo! Little Pearl! You are awake?"

Iphany turned, smiling automatically at Ling's fragilely cheerful voice. She reached in the dresser for a robe and pulled out the first one her hand touched, a light woven thing of pale reddish cotton. Slipping her arms through the sleeves as she walked, she called out her answer.

"Yes, Miss Yuri. I'm awake. I'm coming."

She pulled the door open to see the bent old woman holding out a tray of fruit and beaming wildly. Iphany could not help but return the expression, quickly taking the tray so as not to burden her hostess any longer. It was surprisingly light, and Iphany looked at Ling with a lifted brow.

"Magic, little Pearl! Haha!" She puttered inside the room, checking each nook and cranny with a series of very important sounding hrumphs. Iphany, in the meantime, carried the tray to her bed and was picking at a cluster of grapes. Each was better than its predecessor, bursting cold, sweet juice across her tongue. She kept an eye on Ling; it seemed at any moment the woman would be toppled by a stiff breeze or stumble and go tumbling end over end to the floor. After a time, the old woman had finished her inspection of the room. It must have been satisfactory, for she approached Iphany and clapped her gnarled hands together.

"Good, good! Now, you finish eating, and come downstairs. I will need you to watch the place for me for a few minutes while I go to Pegalynn's for some more pickled quail eyes. Can't make the special without them! Can you do that for me? Of course you can. Brush your hair and wash your face and get dressed and come to the front. I show you what to do. Not hard. Come on!"

Iphany tried six times during this speech to protest, but every attempt was silenced by a wave of Ling's hand. Before she knew it, her tray was gone, her hair was brushed, her face was washed, and she was trundling down the stairs toward the low hum of conversation from the restaurant. Ling was leading and chattering gaily about the café, the specials – as if Iphany was supposed to memorize all of this over a span of three minutes.

None the less, she found herself in front of a small counter overlooking the café and its ten or so patrons. The majority glanced up at her and stared, but most went right back to eating. There were a few who could not seem to tear their gaze away, and these Ling distracted with prattle as she scurried out the front door.

"Fifteen minutes, Pearl. Twenty if crowds are bad. I see you! You do fine!"

Feeling as through she'd just been run through a windmill, Iphany shook her head and took a seat behind the counter. She watched surreptitiously as a table of three witches read through the menu – tapped their plates – and pop! A plate full of food appeared. She'd always wondered how restaurants worked, and had always thought that it couldn't be something as menial as actually having the food cooked and delivered to the tables. That was the way Muggles operated, and it seemed a horrible waste of time, space and money. 

The customers had all well forgotten about her, except for the men, who snuck occasional glances when wives or friends were not paying perfect attention. This Iphany could handle; she knew she would just have to grow accustomed to the idea of always, always being watched. The crowd thinned; it was nearing ten o'clock and the breakfast rush was waning. Galleons and sickles decorated the tables for a few moments after each party left, and then disappeared, hopefully (Iphany thought) into a safe-box or cash drawer. Fifteen minutes passed and Ling still had not returned.

Soon there was no-one left in the café but a middle aged, smooth-faced wizard sitting in the corner. He had not paid much attention to Iphany when the place was better occupied, but now, as she was watching, he rose from his chair and began approaching her. She stiffened immediately, muscles rigid and wound tight.

"Can I help you?" She asked, her voice stronger than she would have imagined. The wizard drew near and she had a better view of his face – intense, angular and severe looking. His only striking feature was his eyes – one was a pale, ice-clad blue, and the other was a water-mud brown. He did not respond immediately, choosing rather to hang back about five feet from the counter. One of his hands was tucked in his pocket, fiddling absently with something. He smiled at her, and it was not a pleasant thing to behold.

"Yes, I believe you can." He responded. Monotone and uninteresting, his voice led Iphany even closer to the edge of suspicion. Her hands were hidden beneath the rim of the counter, and she slipped one inside her pocket to get a hold of her wand.

It all happened so fast that she wasn't certain how the man managed to move so quickly – but in a heartbeat his wand was pointed directly at her forehead. Stupidly, she fumbled for her own and unsheathed it, managing to spit out half of –

"Expelli-"

"Immobilus!" The man cried. His was the spell that held.

. . .

Lucius jolted towards the Locarium, having caught the quicksilver glimmer of movement on the clear surface. The water churned red and swirled, parting in the center to form a weak vortex. There was a single, momentary flash in the center – Iphany frozen in place, her image wavering and flickering. She must not have gotten a whole spell off; otherwise the picture would be strong and discernable. Lucius seized his wand and pointed it at the swirling red water and shouted – 

"Celerspala!" The water froze and so did the picture, and it took every ounce of Lucius' strength to maintain the spell. He drew his wand up slowly and the image of Iphany blurred as it panned out to show the entire restaurant, the male figure pointing a wand at her. It was Manglis Quinn – by God, she would be dead by morning. Lucius gritted his teeth and pulled his wand higher till he could see a window and through to the street. He made out half of a sign – Poppyzh-

His arm dropped and the picture faded. The swirling scarlet water ebbed back to clear, and the Locarium was still. But he had seen all he needed to see – she was in Stregamon, across the street from the Poppyzhan Pub. Not a place he frequented, but he was certainly familiar enough with the town. He'd glimpsed the sign many times while walking the streets of Stregamon, smiling contemptuously as the crowds split before him. His name was reputable in the small Wizarding ville, more prevalently so than in other parts of the world since it was so close to his own home. 

That was neither here nor there, though. Iphany was in trouble, serious trouble from the looks of it. Lucius was not stupid; he knew that by the time he managed to find the small café the Locarium had shown, both Iphany and Manglis would be long gone.

That did not mean, however, that he wasn't going to make a mad effort out of trying.

. . .

Iphany awoke slowly for her second time today, only in this instance she had a throbbing headache and had no idea where she was. Slow, languid sensations crept back in to her body and she felt things – the cold clamp of steel around her wrists and ankles, heavily anchored to...

Groaning, she struggled to sit up. She was in the center of a small room roughly the size of the bathroom at Ling's place. Her ankles were shackled to a large ring protruding from the ground, and her wrists were tightly bound in front of her with cuffs. A tiny, filthy round window provided the only light by which to see, making it a dingy dim gray in the room at best.

What had happened? The last thing she truly remembered was standing at the front of the restaurant watching three women tap their plates with their wands. Everything was fuzzy and red after that, lots of jostling and grabbing – she had a sudden, distinct flash of someone seizing her hair, tugging and – 

"No..." She said weakly, raising her shackled hands to touch her head. Someone had cut a good two feet off of her once waist length hair -- it now reached barely two inches below her chin. The edges were ragged, as though someone had sliced in a hurry. Iphany felt tears prick her eyes – now, how silly, to cry over hair – but it was only a catalyst to precede the rush of terror and confusion slamming into her chest like a gale force wind. She sobbed and sobbed, covering her face with her hands and bruising her nose in the process when the hard metal of the cuffs banged against her face. She found that she could not stop crying, and that even after her tears ran dry she was still hiccupping and heaving pitifully. 

It must have been a good half hour before her sniffling completely dissolved, leaving in its wake a remnant of ragged, irregularly drawn breathing. Now her eyes had adjusted to the absence of true light and she glanced around again, taking in her surroundings. The room, so it seemed, was circular in shape. The walls and floor were made of mortared stone, the ceiling – well. She couldn't be entirely sure, but it appeared to be nothing more than thatched straw and mud.

"Where in Poseidon's name am I?" She said aloud, more to hear a voice than to seek an answer to the question. She wasn't sure how, or what gave her the inclination, but something told her that she was very high in the air. Perhaps at the top of a tower-turret, she thought morbidly, captured and held like some Princess in a fairy tale. 

There wasn't much time for figuring, though. Below her (how far she could not tell, her perception was off and she was still trembling with the effort of her tears) there came the steady, unmistakable clop-clop of someone walking up a flight of stairs. Her heart climbed the slick walls of her throat as the footsteps grew nearer, an eternity of plateaus reached as the walker topped a landing. There were indeterminable pauses, some for a minute or two. Iphany thought she would perhaps die from fear before her assailant reached her. After an eternity, or five minutes, she heard the ancient scrape of a key unlocking the huge iron door behind her. Her body shook, her mind recoiled and she found herself forcing a interruption in reality, a vain attempt at displacing her entire perception into something more affable than her current situation.

The footsteps behind her were heavy, hard as stone. Her eyes were screwed shut and remained so when she felt a presence not a foot behind her and the tickling suddenness of a glove hand lifting her chin.

"Open your eyes, Siren." Came the voice – and she remembered. The café, the man with the odd colored eyes...

She staunchly refused to comply, but was forced to when the entity growled and grabbed a handful of her now-short hair and jerked her head back. With his free fingers he pried her eyes open, making no exceptions for tender tissue or bruisable orbs. She sobbed dryly and looked up, receiving an upside-down first (well, second, but she still could not entirely recall the prior events.) view of this person who had so brutally accosted her.

"Good." He replied jovially, releasing her and watching as she sagged back into a position that was as comfortable as one could be while in shackles. She watched him silently as he strode around to face her. Something long and silver dangled from his belt – a kind of sharp metal spear that was as thin as ten strands of hair. Had she a closer look she'd have seen that it was hollow – a blood-letting needle just slight enough to make a permanent home inside any healthy vein.

"Who are you?" She finally asked, her voice trembling and stripped of bravado. How much terror, she wondered briefly, could one person endure before finally deciding that enough was enough? The last month of her life had been an experiment in horror, as if the Gods above were tossing 'bad luck' die that turned up "Iphany" with every roll. She had always considered herself a strong individual, and for all intents and purposes, usually was just that. But now she was a sullied, broken little girl on her last vestige of strength. Her blood was cursed, and apparently, so was her entire existence.

"Oh, now. That doesn't matter. What matters is who you are. Or rather...what you are."

Iphany managed a scowl, and for show struggled uselessly in her bonds. The man smiled, and she remembered the expression from earlier, and how it did nothing less than turn her spine to ice.

"I don't know who or what you think I am, but I'm not-"

"None of that, little girl. I knew what you were the moment I laid eyes on you. I had thought your kind was extinct – history tells of the slaughter at Shallycob, and there haven't been any sightings in a hundred years. I've always been...fascinated with Sirens. More powerful than Veela, and more closely related to Faerie. It's been documented that a drop of Siren blood is more powerful than any substance known to our world, and the touch of one is the closest thing to heaven one can find on this Earth. Silly of me, I suppose, but I did a great deal of research in my younger years, and I was bent on finding one of you before I died. There are very few publications about Sirens simply because interest in you has diminished as the tales and stories dwindle. I even visited Shallycob a few times – spent freezing nights on the beach, waiting for a glimpse of dark hair or pale skin to break the blackness of the midnight waves." He said, his face a dreamy concoction of madness and pride. Iphany snorted.

"Is that supposed to make me feel guilty?" She sneered, fire rekindling now that she realized he wasn't going to kill her out right.

"No. And don't interrupt me." A hand came sailing as if from nowhere and struck her hard across the cheek. She shuddered and slumped to the side, tasting blood against her teeth. "I made it a pet hobby, collecting information. There are two known photographs of Sirens, and I have acquired the pair of them. Not without a great deal of money changing hands, mind you."

He was silent for a long time, and Iphany finally spoke up after she was certain her query wouldn't be viewed as an interruption.

"What do you want from me?" It was a dangerous question, to be sure, and it was not without a dithering sopranic timber that she voiced it. She could only imagine – did not want to imagine what this man could inflict upon her.

"You'd like to know that, wouldn't you? I can only imagine what you're thinking. And I can tell you-" With this he knelt before her and took her face in both hands, grinning wolfishly when she recoiled in disgust – "That while the idea of making you scream is rather appealing, I know what the consequence for such momentary pleasure would be. The gloves are protection for that same reason. I intend to use you, Siren, but not in the way you are thinking."

He backed away, towering over her again like a decisive judge of fate. She stared at the ground for several long moments, not certain how to go about getting a straight answer from this arrogant bastard. The threat of tears presented itself, but she fought the choking lump and won. Her mind went back to her hair, shorn to a shade beneath chin length.

"Why did you cut my hair off?" She asked, lifting her eyes again. He smiled; she averted her gaze to avoid the glacier thrill.

"Easy enough. A Siren-hair wand would be perhaps the second most valuable thing a person could own. You're going to make me a very powerful man, and a rich one at that. Every wandmaker on the face of this planet would want to buy at least a thousand strands of your hair, and I intend to be a jovial provider." He chuckled wanly and stalked towards the window, glaring out at scenery Iphany could only imagine. "But your true purpose will be fulfilled tomorrow night, at midnight of the full moon. I cannot believe I was so lucky to catch you the day before the process, but I can only wager that it is the Fates operating on my behalf."

"My...true purpose?" She echoed warily, not liking the sound of that at all.

"Yes, child. Tomorrow night you'll go through what historians call the Siren-cycle, when you are fertile and your charms are at their most potent. I intend to harvest your blood, a vial of which would be the most valuable thing a person could own, seconded only by a wand with your hair as the core. A drop of ripe blood on a hideous woman's tongue would make her beautiful; a bit added to certain potions dramatically increases a person's power and strength. It is even said that, when mixed with the correct ingredients, your blood is the elixir of an eternal life rife with love and unending blessings." He laughed again, almost madly this time. "I have here, sitting before me and in the flesh, mankind's worst enemy and greatest untapped resource."

"You're mad. I've read every book on what you call "my kind" and I've never heard such rubbish." Iphany spat, terrified that it didn't matter if he was mad or right – either way, her life would end the following night.

"Then you haven't been reading the right books, my dear." He responded cheerfully, returning from the window to open the door at the front of the room.

"Wait, please – please, don't do this – "

"I'm not! At least, not right now. You've an entire day and a half before midnight tomorrow. I haven't decided yet what I'll do about you swimming, since I'm certain you'll need to be submerged in water between now and then – but we'll worry on that when night falls." He appeared contemplative for a moment, and then cast a final glance at her. "I'll have something brought to you to eat...later. I've got things to do now. Pressing matters to attend to! Rest well, little Siren."

With a thud and several latches sliding in to place, Iphany was alone.


	21. Savior

Song of the Siren : Savior

A/N : Apparently nobody read chapter 20! Give the links to your friends, your family – your dog, I don't care. Trying to get some mainstream circulation here!! I'm writing this for my own personal enjoyment, but I am also writing it for yours, too.

// Savior //

Lucius Apparated just at outside the "Swankie" a few minutes past three in the afternoon. The strolling crowds had thinned considerably; no-one wanted to be around on the street when it was this hot. He pushed his way past a gaggle of young Wizards wading hopefully near the entrance of the restaurant. Something about that didn't seem right to him, so he paused and addressed them coolly.

"What are you doing out here?" He asked, startling the lot of them. The tallest of the four, a gangling, bird faced boy, obviously recognized him and went immediately into stammering politeness.

"Err, hullo there! Mister Lord Malfoy, sir. We are standing out here because...well, someone said there was a Siren working here, sir." He colored and looked at his friends, all of which were beginning to look rather sheepish themselves.  Lucius scoffed but looked inside the café at the bent old Asian woman running the front counter.

"Hardly looks like a Siren to me, young man." He smirked, inside wondering how he could go about debunking their hopes and sending them along their way so he could question the woman inside. The four Wizards looked particularly abashed at this statement, and realizing that they had been foolish, all shuffled off in separate directions. Lucius pushed his way inside the café and blinked several times against the darkness. The old woman at the counter immediately addressed him, her voice hurried and rough.

"Not open right now, come back at dinner time."

"I'm not here to eat. I need to know about a girl that was in here earlier today." He said, looking around the room and still finding the will to be appalled that Iphany would have willingly chosen to be in a place like this. Ling frowned and came from around the counter, facing the imposing, tall, silvery-blonde man without so much as a blink in her demeanor.

"What you want to know?" She asked suspiciously, staring him down with as much vehemence as she could muster. Lucius glared at her, his gaze cold and impenetrable.

"She is my God-daughter, and she is missing. I know she was here this morning, and I saw her being accosted by a man named Manglis Quinn. I need to know if you know where I can find him."

Ling was inclined not to tell this man anything, as the poor girl had obviously been running from someone. And if this man said he was her Godfather, she was willing to bet that he was the 'someone' she had been so anxious to escape. Still, the last thing she wanted was for the girl to be in danger, and the man before her (through his harsh veil of arrogance and impudence) seemed to emanate a real concern for her well-being, whether he knew it was sincere or not.

"I take her in last night. She was tired and hungry and alone, and running from something." At this she gave him a glare, small black eyes narrowing accusatorily. Lucius remained nonplussed, waiting for her to continue. "I leave her here this morning for twenty minutes, I had to go-"

"That's not what I need to know, I need to know if you have any idea where Manglis Quinn lives. I believe he is a rather prominent figure in this town, is he not?" Lucius interrupted, beginning to feel unaccountably irritated. Time could be the deciding factor that meant Iphany's life or death, and this woman was squandering it shamelessly. 

"Manglis, he is...he is living...I believe in old manor outside of Muggle town. Charmed, though. Looks like cottage if you are not –"

"Thank you." Said Lucius swiftly, and then he Disapparated. 

. . .

Outside, the sun was dimming beneath the shaded blue clouds, slowly dipping beneath the horizon and making way for the first struggling stars. Iphany, who had thought it dark in her cell before, was now confronted with real darkness. At first she did not notice, for the light was dying slowly, but soon she had to address the fact that her hand, three inches in front of her face, was barely visible. The blackness was swiftly thick and suffocating, and for the first time Iphany recognized the silence. It was unbearable, worse than being manhandled by that brute of a wizard. Her ears rang with the Nothing of it, like tiny screaming bells burrowed inside her brain.  
  
To break the awful quiet she tried singing, but without the moon's eye to watch her and the water to hear her, the song felt flat and dull and was without comfort. She found that when she stood, the chain attached to her legs grew a link, and with each step she took it sprouted another and in this way she was allowed to walk about the room. For this she was quite thankful, and even more so for the crude toilet and sink enclosed behind the only other door in the room.  
  
After this discovery lost its wonder, she was left to bemoan the height of the window, which was such that barely the tips of her fingers curled around the circular rim when she stretched her highest on her toes. Through the opening she could see a peppering of silver stars, now and then obscured by the random rogue smear of a cloud. She was beginning to feel the first itchy signs of _sea_sickness, her body aching for water and moonlight. Arbitrary waves of lethargy and dizziness swept her here, and then there, until she was crouched beneath the window keening softly with her face pressed to her knees. Nausea followed the vertigo, sneaky spells that left her shivering with empty chills.  
  
She would die from this, of that she was certain. Minutes passed like hours in this agony, but she kept no time. Her sad, straggling thoughts were nothing concrete, merely flashes of blue and silver, snatches of song that were too quiet to be counted as real sounds.   
  
In fact, the footsteps on the stairs could have very well been her own pulse, which was why she took no note of the noise until the chamber door flew open and Manglis Quinn stepped inside.  
  
He laughed at her openly, toeing her prostrate form with the pointed edge of his boot.  
  
"Up, Siren. Time for a swim." He grew angry when she offered no reply, save a breathy groan and the slightest stirring of her hands. "I'll drag you if I have to."  
  
He had to.   
  
. . .  
  
Manglis had the sirenchild beneath the arms, tugging her down a flight of stairs that refused to end. This had been his general plan; to wait until she was so weak and lifeless that she would not have the energy to run. Once he got her in the water, he reasoned, he could watch her until she was finished.  
  
The small stone fountain at the back of his manor wasn't more than three feet deep, but its waters were very clear and cold. He hesitated only slightly before dumping Iphany in, ignoring her stuttering cry of shock and protest.  
  
He stood back and watched impassively as she shook herself awake, rising unsteadily in the fountain and glaring at him. It was unnerving, the way her eyes caught light even in the darkness of the courtyard, shining like two large green-bellied lamps. He would not look at her directly while she knelt in the fountain and scooped water over her body, and stuffed his fingers resolutely in his ears when she began singing.

. . .

Lucius stopped in his tracks, not a hundred yards from the burned-out cottage that looked like nothing more than an ancient outhouse – _her voice..._

In a blink the cottage was gone and in its place was Manglis Quinn's manor, ancient and crumbling and sporting one skinny tower that climbed up to the heavens.

_her voice..._

. . .

Iphany felt the life-giving strength of the moon flow into her blood like liquid fire. She sang louder than she should have, more symphonic highs and skin-tingling lows, all the while she kept her gaze firmly locked on Manglis Quinn. He was watching her out of the corner of his eye, half-nervous for the first time. Even though he could not fully see her, he was _aware_ that she was wearing a white dress soaked to transparency, and he could still hear the faint strains of her song.

All she needed was a moment of pure distraction – a moment for him to look into her eyes, and he would be temporarily immobile. Not long enough for her to dart forward and snatch her wand from his pocket, but long enough to give her a good fifty yard lead.

_Look at me_, she thought, sultry glare hot and uncomfortable, framed by dark hair dyed cobalt in the moonlight – _look at me, you crazy git._

He walked a circle, watching her but not looking -  until a fleeting golden thrash of movement from the hedge caught his attention – someone emerging from –

He turned and glanced at her - it was the perfect moment as her voice soared and her eyes shone - he was frozen in place, a look of indescribable longing and terrible rage screwing his features. She bolted, in three wading steps she was out of the fountain and running with her wet skirt bunched over her arm, glancing back to make sure he wasn't following -

THUD.

She connected with something warm and solid. Something with arms, something with a familiar voice and a smell like cloves and autumn smoke.

"Iphany! Be-"

"STUPEFY!" Manglis roared, and Iphany felt herself being shoved to the ground in a tangle of sodden clothes and limbs. Lucius Malfoy crouched over her as the jet of red light shot three inches above his head and slammed into the brick wall behind them. She opened her mouth to scream, to offer something, but he had already risen and had pointed his wand directly at Manglis. Iphany struggled to her knees in time to hear Manglis scream a spell she didn't know and to see Lord Malfoy, caught in mid-stride, pitch forward and stumble to the ground. His forehead hit the edge of the fountain with a sickening crack, and he was still.

"Stupefy." Manglis hissed, wand pointed at her as he rushed forward.

Thus was the end of Iphany's valiant attempt to escape, and Lucius Malfoy's valiant attempt at rescue. 


	22. Wounded

Song of the Siren : Wounded  
  
A/N: Those of you enjoying ReluctantHero!Lucius, be forewarned. That old Malfoy charm is back.  
  
// Wounded //  
  
Iphany was actually growing quite accustomed to "coming to," and could even time her slow ascent into consciousness with surprising accuracy. It seemed that her entire existence over the past few weeks had been comprised entirely of wakings, each one increasingly more unpleasant than its predecessor. For the first time it occurred to her that not waking ever again was an idea of growing affability.  
  
She was back in the grimy, black-as-pitch cell, only this time, she was not alone. Lord Malfoy was chained to the wall as well, arms strapped high above his head and knotted with rope as thick as a balled fist. The tethering dangled from a metal loop attached to the wall, something Iphany had not noticed earlier. Now that the moon shone high, it cast a wash of meager light that blued the room into shapes and shadows rather than a meaningless pool of ink thick darkness. She could now see that the walls were studded with similar hooks, each spaced evenly and the same distance from the floor. Lucius was lucky; he was just the right height so that he did not dangle from the rope.  
  
Thank Merlin for small favors, he thought ironically, watching as Iphany stirred awake.  
  
"Ah, Miss Novara. So kind of you to join the living. Fantastic place you've found for yourself...very avant garde, if I do say so myself."  
  
Iphany scowled as she stood, wincing at the sudden soreness in her arms and shoulders. She found that she could still walk the berth of the room, and she used this privilege to approach Lord Malfoy. Even though it was quite obvious he was in no way capable of harming her (or kissing her, for that matter) she still kept a good three feet's distance.  
  
That was until she noted the awful four inch gash to his forehead, a nasty wound that was open and still weeping with a trickle of blood. A closer look saw the dark scarlet matted in his fine blonde hair, and she cringed. It is a woman's natural instinct to nurture and soothe, and without her mother's spell to supress such urges, Iphany was prey to the very feminine desires of caretaking.  
  
While he watched, she bent down and gathered a handful of her still-damp sheath, catching the thin corner between her teeth and ripping off a section of cloth not sullied by the grimy stone floor. She stepped forward, very business-like, and stood up on her tiptoes so as to daub at the ugly abrasion. Lucius winced, both in pain and at the fact that her small, warm body was pressed perfectly flush against his.  
  
She recognized herself when he cleared his throat and tugged purposefully on the rope to get her attention. Stepping back, she was momentarily grateful to the darkness for camouflaging her flaming cheeks.  
  
"I'm sorry." She stammered. He raised an eyebrow and did not reply for a moment, taking in her newly shorn pageboy bob.  
  
"I might have known," he said, shaking his head. "I should have guessed that Manglis would find out about you one way or another. Of course, you did deliver yourself into his arms, so to speak. You are far more trouble than you are worth, Miss Novara."  
  
She bristled at that, squaring her narrow shoulders. If her hands had been free of shackles, she'd have set them jauntily on her hips. Instead she just glared at him and crossed the floor, glancing up and out the tiny window. To display her disdain, of course, but also to make time to deal with the fact that her heart was thudding against her chest at the memory of his breath on her neck.  
  
"Who is he, this...Manglis?" she asked finally, once her nerves had stopped twanging. Lucius snorted behind her and shook his head in an unseen gesture.  
  
"A Death-Eater hopeful, one my Lord recognized as being mad beyond any vestige of usefulness. He's been rather annoying over the years, but not much of a real threat. Believe me, you'd have known of him sooner if he'd gotten wind of the fact that your father married a Siren. He's been on about them since I can remember. I think one of his ancestors is from the town -- what was it, Shallycob? A Muggle who died trying to pursue his Siren lover." Lucius replied, wriggling his hands experimentally in the ropes. They were not magical, this he could tell. But they were strong, and tightly bound. He could already feel the coarse binding chafing his wrists raw.   
  
Iphany had nothing to say to this, but felt particularly tongue-tired anyway now that she was face-to-face with him again. She was still remembering the violent, heated kiss against the wall, his hand wound in her hair and his arm crushing her body to his. Shaking her head clear of that disturbing(ly arousing...) image, she let several minutes slide by in silence before asking:  
  
"What's going to happen?"  
  
He smirked in response, still managing to look menacing even when tethered to a brick wall.  
  
"Well," he said."I imagine I'm meant to watch him drain your blood tomorrow night, and then I suspect he'll kill me, too. Probably not immediately, though. I'm sure he's got a few interesting surprises in store for me, since he thinks I was instrumental in his denial of admittance into Voldemort's more prestigious ranks."  
  
"Well...uhm...what are we going to do?" She asked, a fringe of panic skirting her query. He looked down on her for a moment, as if questioning her seriousness.  
  
"Why, we're going to die, Miss Novara."  
  
Her face fell considerably at that response; she had been quite certain he would be privy to some great plot instrumental in their escape. She fought tears for several minutes before turning to him, assuredly dry-eyed.  
  
"Er...thank you for...trying to rescue me, at least." She said awkwardly, fiddling with the hem of her skirt. He sneered meanly, still managing to laugh at her despite his predicament and not completely sure why this streak of maliciousness had decided to rear its head. One thing was for certain, it masked the desire very well.  
  
"Don't flatter yourself, Miss Novara. Were you not Voldemort's promised whore, I'd have let you run and thought no more of it."   
  
Stung, Iphany fought to keep her mouth from dropping open at the sheer harshness of his reply. Tears threatened again, this time so suddenly that she couldn't prevent her eyes from shining with the moisture of it.  
  
"But...you've...I mean -- you kissed me!" She said hotly, balling her shackled fists. He regarded her coolly before responding.  
  
"Merely a moment of weakness. It won't happen again. I _want_ you, girl. That doesn't mean I _like_ you." He said, satisfied when she turned away from him to hide a rush of tears. It didn't seem quite right to stop there, even though a white tingling of something unpleasant (the word _guilt_ came to mind, but he brushed it away) tickled at his conscience. "I doubt anyone will ever really like you -- _love_ you, Iphany. You are beautiful and seductive and perfect in every way, but men do not follow you because they want to. They do it because they have to. They have no choice."  
  
He heard her choke back a sob; saw her thin shoulders trembling. A contented wave of smug accomplishment rose inside him, loud and red enough to drown out the dreadful nag of doubt and the thick, hot charge of lust he felt every time he caught a glimpse of her face.

Iphany wished fervently – _desperately_ that her mother's spell had not broken. Two days ago a comment like that would have meant nothing – perhaps it would have angered her a bit, made her steam at the thought of his rudeness – but it would have never felt like this, this gut-twisting fist of feeling that made her body jolt with unshed sobs. The fact that he was watching her and knew the effect his words had upon her was even worse, for now the pain was coupled with boundless shame that he was seeing her in this weakness. 

Holding back is difficult work, and it quickly sapped Iphany of any remaining energy she might have had. One she was able to take a breath without shuddering, she lowered herself to the cold stone floor, curled up in a ball and dreamed.

. . .

This vision of her mother was unlike the others, as this time she sought her actively, opening her dream-eyes to a Malfoy-free cell that was bathed in a firelit glow. Ilia stood at the window, her ageless white face still and sad. She turned when Iphany sat up, rubbing her blessedly shackle-free hands through her hair.

"He cut your hair." Ilia murmured, moving to her daughter and kneeling on the floor. Thin fingers toyed with the chin-length strands, smoothing the tangled mess back from her forehead.

"I want you to put that spell on me again." Iphany said immediately, forcing herself not to relish the closeness of her mother's touch. It was not real, and it never would be. Ilia sat back, knowing spread across her features. She rose again and made for the window, leaving a silence to mark her answer.

"I can't." She replied, looking up at the moon that shone almost full through the portal. Iphany started, mimicking her mother's path as she stood and approached her.

"Why not?" She asked, a worried frown furrowing her brows. Ilia shook her head and sighed.

"That enchantment can only be done once, and it can only be done when the object of the spell is unaware of its implications. I was hoping it would never unravel, that perhaps it would be effective enough to quell your interest in men...but now this one-" A ghostly momentary image of Lucius flickered against the wall – in reality, Iphany's eyes had fluttered and seen him amidst the confines of the dream. "He came into the picture...and everything is confused now. The prophecy – your destiny is blurred. You were not supposed to meet him. He has...captivated you, Iphany."

"He has not. I hate him." Iphany replied vehemently, turning away from the spot where he would have hung. Ilia smiled wistfully and reached out, cupping her cheek with one hand.

"No you don't. He hurt you, and I'm not talking about when he flung you out of the library or when he kissed you. If you hated him, that terrible thing he said to you would not have mattered." Ilia replied, dropping her hand and looking up at the sky again. "We are beings of Love, Iphany. It is in our nature. And what he said...while it is true in one respect, he is fatally wrong in another. A man – any man who knows you, sees past your beauty and your charm and the unshakeable desire you arouse in him – will love you. It is getting them to look further than your perfection that is the difficult part."

"I don't believe that." Iphany said coldly, stepping back and shaking her head. Ilia did not respond for quite some time.

"Well," She said finally. "It doesn't matter anyway. If you want my advice, stay as far away from that man as you can. I don't mean leave him – you have to stay at his home no-"

"I don't see how that makes any difference, as come tomorrow evening I'll be dead anyway." Iphany interrupted flatly, gesturing to her wrists. "That awful…Mangle, or whatever his name is – he means to drain my blood and use it for some beauty potion."

Ilia laughed softly and looked back to her, her face half-shadowed and half-celestial in the glow.

"You're not going to die. That much I can tell you for sure. After that...it is anyone's guess. I suppose you should follow through with this scheme they've set you on, and once you're in the Dark Lord's care, perhaps the final outcome will be more clear." Ilia flickered, became insubstantial for a moment. Iphany looked at her, not believing.

"You mean I'm not going to die? What's going to happen?"

"He's going to save you...again. I'm not sure how, but I know it is not your time yet. Don't be afraid." Another shimmer in Ilia's image, her color faded and Iphany's head swam. "Pay attention to your dreams very soon. I believe my sisters may try to contact you, and their knowledge of the future could be better than mine."

"Wait, not yet. What do I do about...Lord Malfoy?" She asked, reaching out to take her mother's hand. Her fingers passed through the outstretched appendage like mist.

"Stay away from him. Eventually, if you continue to let yourself bask in his company, he will not be able to resist you anymore, and that will put you in danger. In the meantime, do not take what he says to heart. He does not understand." She smiled once more and leaned forward to give her daughter a ghostly kiss on the forehead. And then she was gone, taking with her the warm-orange glow and plunging Iphany into darkness again.

. . .

Lucius had watched her sleep, watched her tender lips shape soundless words he could not read. She shifted in slumber, murmuring softly as she turned and rolled on her back. He closed his eyes and would not – _could_ not look at her. As much as he wanted to hate her, it was impossible. He had hated and desired before – he hated Narcissa, had from the moment their engagement was announced to the moment he she bore him a son. But he had still thought her beautiful in that same cold and calculating way that he was. Their lovemaking was always brief, intense, and meaningless, and afterwards she would climb out of his bed and pad softly to her own without so much as a kiss in parting.

He liked it that way, for aside from rivaling snobbery, they had little in common. He could not stand it when she talked, and thought her perhaps to be one of the stupidest women on the planet. He reviled her happily, and still had her to warm his bed on some nights.

Iphany, though...he tried and tried to foster that same feeling of loathing that he had for his wife, and found that he could not. The best he could muster was resentment, plain and uninteresting, but still potent enough to keep him from treating her any differently than he did everyone else. It wasn't fair that he had to watch her, to want her, to crave and need that feeling of pure ecstasy he had known in the brief moment their lips had touched – and still bear the understanding that if he valued his life, he could never have her. It was, to say the least, maddening.

She shifted again, this time with a purpose. A splash of daylight had begun creeping in through the window, staining the squalid chamber with yellow-gray morning. She rose without speaking to him, straightening her off-center gown quickly.

He followed her with his eyes as she disappeared behind a low door to his left, and he heard the distinct sound of running water. If nothing else we was incredibly thirsty, but was not about to ask her to get him a drink.

"You're going to have to try and get out of those ropes." She said as she came back in, hair slicked back and face wet from washing. He tutted disdainfully in response.

"And how do you propose I do that, Miss Novara? I've bones in my hands, otherwise I'd go on and pull them right out."

"You could do it," She said lightly, combing her fingers through her hair. Her head felt so light now without the added weight of her heavy tresses. It was almost a welcome change. "You'd probably break the bones in your thumbs, but you could do it."

He had considered this, in all seriousness. It would take a great amount of strength, but he reasoned that if he pulled hard enough, he might be able to free at least one of his hands. The loop on the right side was looser, he could wriggle his wrist inside it, but it grew tight if he tried to tug it past the outer curve of his thumb.

"I'm not going to break my hand for you, child." He said, lifting any eyebrow at her impertinence.

"Perhaps not, but maybe you should consider breaking it for your own benefit." She said reasonably, moving to the window and standing on her tip-toes to peer out. "It's nearly dawn," She murmured quietly. "We've got to be in here all day, you know."

"Not necessarily. Who knows what Manglis has planned? He might have a whole host of exciting things in store for us."

But Manglis did not have any exciting things in store from them, and they did indeed wind up spending the day locked in a cell together. By noon it was so hot that Iphany was making repeated trips to the makeshift bathroom to splash coolish water on her face while Lucius watched on, sweating and cursing her under his breath.

She might have even inflamed that sentiment a bit by making the mildewy-smelling water seem more desirable than it actually was, dabbing her face and neck luxuriantly with a soaked rag she'd found stashed under the filthy bathtub.

They did not talk much, though there were several times when words hung half-suspended in the air, thought but not spoken. There were things Iphany would have liked to say to him, retorts that would have been perfect in the heat of his insult last night, but seemed rather childish and stupid now.

Unbeknownst to her, Lucius was steadily tugging at his ropes, the heat and sweat from his hands making the ties a bit more pliant and his skin more yielding. By mid-afternoon his arms were aching and numb, which was a good thing, because he could already feel the bones of right hand warping beneath the pressure, threatening cracks and spidery fractures if he pulled too hard. So far he hadn't mustered the nerve to break his own bones for the sake of escape, but he knew that time was running out and if he planned to do something, he would have to do it soon.

Darkness stalked the tower and pounced, and by nine o'clock the room had cooled to a bearable temperature. Iphany was nervous – Lord Malfoy didn't appear to have made any attempt to free himself, and midnight was rapidly approaching. Her mother had said not to worry – and yet logically her mind nagged her to remember that it had only been a dream, and perhaps she had manufactured the conversation to keep herself from panicking. 

Ten – Ten thirty – Eleven – by a quarter to twelve, Iphany heard the distinct ascension of Manglis' footsteps. She glanced frantically at Lucius, he appeared to be concentrating very hard on something and refused to look her in the eyes. In no time the footsteps were just below them and then right outside the door, and Iphany rushed forward to confront him before Manglis could step inside.

"Do something, you selfish bastard!" She hissed desperately, eyes darting to the door as it burst open. Lucius looked down at her stonily, but it was a look that could only last a moment, for in the next Manglis was in the room and seizing Iphany by the wrist-chain that bound her.

"Saying your last good-byes, Siren?" He laughed, dragging her to the center of the room. She refused to answer, certain that her voice would belie the terror she now felt in full force. "I don't suppose...have you slept with her yet, Lucius? You behave as though you have, rushing in to save her and protecting her from me, albeit unsuccessfully."

Lucius rolled his eyes as he answered, and although his words were light, Iphany could detect a trace of something odd in his voice. She glanced up at his hands – and realized that his right was almost half-way free of the rope, and that it was bent and folded at a gruesome angle. He was breaking his own hand –

"Of course I haven't, Manglis. And I am protecting her because she is Lord Voldemort's...future wife, you might say. You are about to do something very foolish in killing her, and I think it would be wise for you to reconsider." Lucius said, and Iphany was amazed at the steadiness in his voice.

"Interesting." Manglis replied, all the while taking out his wand and pointing it at the ceiling. A chain came spiraling down from above, and he lifted Iphany's wrists until the chain caught and latched on to her cuffs. She fought admirably, but in the end was no match for the older man's strength, and wound up being suspended in a similar position as Lucius, except that _her_ toes were barely touching the ground. 

"He's right," She said finally, wincing at the ache that already awoke in her arms. "I'm to m-"

"None of that interests me, Siren, as once I've got your blood, I'll be a thousand times more powerful than Lord Voldemort ever dreamed of being." Manglis interrupted, reaching to his belt loop and unfastening the needle that hung there. From his pocket he pulled a long, clear bag sporting a thin tube he attached to the needle. 

"You're mistaken, Manglis. Her blood is not as powerful as you think it is." Lucius said, and it was clear now that he was stalling for time. His hand was almost free, crushed beyond imagining, but almost free. The agony had dulled considerably once the first fracture cracked across his knuckles, as his body had gone into immediate shock and sent every available pain-killing chemical to his brain.

"Well, I'll certain find out, won't I?" He replied cheerfully, now turning his full attention to Iphany. He lifted a gloved hand and stroked the pulsing vein in her neck. "You know..." He said thoughtfully, allowing his eyes to roam her body, "It is a shame I won't be able to enjoy that which Sirens are so famous for. I hear the mere touch of your fingers on bare skin is enough to bring a man t-"

Iphany smiled coquettishly and spit directly into his face. He roared and wiped furiously at his eyes, and then gripped her chin with his hands.

"You are a stupid, stupid girl." He seethed, and then he lifted her face and drove the needle into her flesh.


	23. Divide

Song of the Siren : Divide  
  
A/N : Blahblahblah, words words words. I seem to have somewhat of a mini-epic on my hands. And to think, I was only going for ten chapters. Apparantly Iphany really wants her story told, and she doesn't care how many sleepless nights it takes for me to get it done. Look for Action!Lucius dolls in stores this Christmas!  
  


Big ups to Kim (the manipulative little monster), who let me use her OC Arden Lestrange. I love you a million, Kim! You da best!  
  
// Divide //  
  
As soon as the enchanted needle slid beneath her skin, Iphany's entire body went slack. She was, however, quite conscious, and could feel the blood catch and flow into the tube and out of her body at an dizzying pace. Manglis was watching her closely, so closely that he did not see Lucius give a final, wrenching tug at his wrist. With a popping of many bones, his hand slid free.  
  
It took a moment for him to recover from the staggering onslaught of agony that shot from his fingertips to the crook of his elbow, but somehow he was able to untie the second rope that bound his other hand. Iphany's face had gone greviously white and her eyes were half closed, the bag at Manglis' feet appeared to be half full.  
  
Lucius charged forward suddenly and soundlessly, and knocked a surprised Manglis straight to the ground. He grunted as he tumbled down, quick to fumble for his wand. The Lord of Malfoy Manor, who was wandless and completely devoid of weaponry, reared back and punched the struggling wizard in the face. Manglis snarled and spit blood, forgoing his wand for the moment to deliver a matching blow. Lucius dodged and stumbled to the side as he grabbed a handful of Manglis' robe. He pulled hard enough to knock the other wizard off balance -- he stumbled to his knees as Lucius yanked the robe viciously from his shoulders.   
  
But Manglis was one step ahead -- he had managed to unearth his wand from the robe before Lucius tore it from his back.  
  
At least...he thought it was his wand. He pointed it directly at Lucius, obviously ready to end his involvement before he could cause any more trouble.  
  
"Avada Kedavra!" He roared. The room went ablaze in a rush of green light - and when the color cleared, Manglis Quinn lay slumped against the wall, a look of shock prying his mismatched eyes wide open.  
  
"And that," said Lucius as he stepped forward and snatched his wand from the dead man's hand,' "Is why you should never use another wizard's wand."  
  
Then he turned and moved swiftly to Iphany, whose usually warm flesh was already cool beneath his fingers. He jerked the needle out of her neck and lifted his wand to the chains.  
  
"Alohamora," he muttered, and the locked unclicked and Iphany fell limply into his arms. He gathered her securely and then bolted for the door, running as fast as he could with a hundred pound weight strung between his arms. The towerstairs were endless, winding on and on until he was dizzy from the spiral descent. Finally he came to a door at the bottom and he burst into a fire lit parlor. The woodlain floors sighed and sagged beneath his heavy steps, and the contents of the mantle rattled at the invasion of his hand. He found what he sought - a jar of Floo powder, nearly empty - and then he tossed it into the fire.  
  
"Malfoy Manor!!" He shouted, and then plunged himself into the emerald flame.   
  
. . .  
  
Draco was surprised, to say the least, when his father charged through the fireplace in his room with Iphany's prostrate form in his arms. He stood up, the book he'd been reading sliding off his lap and to the floor.  
  
"Call a Mediwizard." Lucius snarled as he lay Iphany on Draco's bed.  
  
"What-"  
  
"Now!" He shouted, turning from Iphany long enough to convey his raging urgency. Draco started and then ran for the door, flinging it open and running quickly down the hallway.  
  
Lucius knelt by Iphany's side, fingers pressed against her wrist to feel for a pulse. Fire and pain shot from his own mangled right hand, but he could not attend to it now. If she died...  
  
"Damnit, Iphany, don't you do this to m-" H stopped himself, momentarily shocked at his own choice of words. His heart leapt as his fingertips caught the faintest feeling of a pulse beneath her skin, weak and brief as a butterfly's wing.

A thought came unbidden into his head just then, a thought so base and inappropriate that he almost cursed himself aloud for allowing it room to breathe. He looked behind him, assured himself that no-one was coming yet – and then he reached down, twined his fingers in Iphany's hair, and pulled loose a dozen or so of the chin-length strands. 

Just as he was tucking the hair in his vest pocket and reaching down to test her pulse again, Draco and a Mediwizard came rambling through the door. The Mediwizard was the same one that had tended to Iphany on the night of her poisoning, and for this Lucius was grateful. At least he was already familiar with their situation. He started when he saw the ragged gash across Lucius' forehead, but Lucius waved him off and gestured at Iphany.

"She's lost a great deal of blood." Said Lucius, motioning for Draco to come closer. "Give him your necklace, Draco." He instructed, wincing as he gestured too hard with his injured right hand. Draco complied, unfastening the charm and handing it to the Mediwizard.

The young man gave him a quizzical glance but slipped the necklace over his head and then slid on the bed to examine Iphany. He hmphed and grunted and made several questionable noises, turning her head this way and that and keeping two fingers on her neck for a pulse.

"She's going to be alright. Another pint gone and she'd be dead." He finally pronounced, rising from the bed and shifting his gaze to Lucius. He blinked twice and his mouth fell open when his eyes landed on the older man's distorted hand, already bruised and blue from broken blood vessels. "Great Merlin, Mister Malfoy. What have you done to your hand? I thought your forehead was bad..."

"Yes, could you tend to that, please?" He said shortly, stepping forward and extending his hand to the Mediwizard.

"I can. Here, let me at your forehead first." He said, stepping back and taking out his wand. He pointed it at Lord Malfoy's head, muttered something under his breath, and held steady while a stream of black liquid poured from the wand's tip. Lucius grimaced and hissed as the substance oozed into his wound and began knitting the severed skin. Within moments there was nothing left of the abrasion but a think, almost invisible white scar. 

"The bones are going to be more painful," He warned, "And even after I heal them you'll have to drink a potion every six hours to make sure the mending holds."

Lucius nodded, pocketing the small vial the wizard handed him. Then his nerves went taut and still as the Mediwizard pointed his wand at the injured hand.

"Helenbon!" said the Mediwizard.

A lightning spear of agony crumbled through Lucius' fingers, pinging wildly at his wrist and seething black coils up his arm. He could practically feel the displaced bones creaking and shifting back into position and the hairline fractures sealing against the grain. Sweat broke out across his forehead and he pitched forward, steadying his weight with his left hand on the bed.

But the pain did not last forever, and soon he was shaking with the aftermath and the sharp red throb was no more that an unpleasant memory. The Mediwizard instructed him to refrain from writing with it (that was just fine, as Lucius could write just as well with his left) and to avoid lifting anything heavier than a book.

Iphany was transferred to her own bedroom by way of the Mobillicorpus charm. Lucius was afraid to touch her.

Once she was settled in and under the watchful eye of Blat, who was overjoyed to have her Mistress home safely, Lucius left her in her bedroom with strict orders to be notified if something was amiss. 

Then he stalked into the library, taking the blue-black hairs from his vest pocket and winding them around his fingers. He sat down at his desk and pulled out a sheet of parchment, quill and inkpot.

_Severus, _he scrawled on the paper in his flagrant loopy script, _I need you to make me a potion._

. . .

Iphany was out of commission until the next evening, when she awoke with a slow, languid stretch and groan. The room was dark and quiet, and the faint smell of lavender hung in the air. She lifted her arm and discovered that the smell was coming from her skin, and that her tangled hair was brushed and clean (and no longer sporting ragged ends).

She wriggled out of the bed and brought a hand to her temple to soothe the sudden spinning throb of her aching head. There were no tawdry feelings of displacement or confusion, no wild frantic wonderings as to her whereabouts. Her memory, for once, was perfectly clear – up until the moment Manglis had shoved the needle into her neck. Lord Malfoy must have freed his hand and overpowered the older wizard and saved her life – again. But as he'd said before – if it wasn't for her involvement with Lord Voldemort, she'd be twice dead by now.

The sting of his comments still prickled beneath her skin, but she shoved those silly feelings back into darkness, where they belonged. The moon was still full tonight, seen as she glimpsed it rising through the trees. The stars were shamed by its round opal glow, such a stark white that it was nearly blue against the black velvet of the sky. Iphany could see the pond glinting secretly behind the tree-grove, and she wanted nothing more in that instant than to swim and swim and sing until her lungs burned and her legs gave out from the effort.

And yet...as she was making her way towards the pond, tiptoeing soundlessly down the last flight of stairs...there was something else she wanted to do, and the very thought of it made her cheeks flare with color. On every full moon before this there had been the innocent, childish desire to be free beneath the stars. Singing and swimming were her ultimate joy, the only thing that brought her to happiness.

Now another desire had awakened in her, a desire unrivaled by the pull of the water and the moon. This one wanted flesh -- it wanted heat and kissing. It wanted the raw rage of hands on her bare skin, a pair of lips taking no indignity in raking the boyish flare of her hips and the soft curve of her breast. It made her heart trip and stutter and her skin feel warm all over, so warm that the water of the pond was like the blessings of Circe against her body.

And as she began to sing a new image woke inside her mind, and it was not the benign beauty of a starry sky imprinted on the backs of her eyelids.

The water dripped and trickled from her shoulders, ran in rivers around her waist and in her mind's eye she saw herself tangled in flesh, brief flashes of lips meeting and tongues doing things they shouldn't. She heard her own voice, breathy and hot, words muffled against a shoulder and silenced by another kiss.

The vision shifted and skewed, widened to include a face to put with the perpetrator of all those naughty things.

Iphany's dream-image trembled as Lord Malfoy placed a hungry kiss to her mouth

Her eyes flew open directly and she stopped singing, realizing that she had been still for quite some time. Letting out a frustrated howl, she slapped the water with an open palm and watched her image shiver, features dark and shadowed.

Trudging back up to the bank, she dried herself and slipped into her nightdress, draping her robe and towel over one arm as she started for the house. _It's not fair,_ she thought bitterly as she padded quietly into the Manor, her bare-slapping wet feet still echoing in the large sunroom. After all those things he said, she should have despised him – hated his very voice, the sight of his face. But no, here she was, shivering and wet and still...Merlin, she _hated_ to use the word, but there was no way around it. She was aroused, and quite thoroughly -- by the thought of...well...of making love to Lord Malfoy. 

In that moment she hated her mother, her cursed blood and her entire sorrowful existence. It wasn't enough that her mother was dead and her father was dead nutters – she had to be a Siren to top it all off, a creature reputed for lustful behavior and known throughout the world as being the most passionate of all beings. None of that had mattered when she had been isolated from men – the only one she'd ever known was her father, and he certainly didn't fall under the realm of desirability. She wondered bitterly if it would have mattered what man she'd met first, that it could have been some great old fat toad, and she would have still gone stupid over the thought of having sex with him.

Something inside her staunchly refuted that thought, though she couldn't be entirely sure why.

It would be stupid to go into the library now. Experience dictated that _he_ would most certainly be in there, nursing a glass of brandy and observing her over the silver rims of his square spectacles. The thought – (damn it!) made her shiver. Besides, she thought dourly, he had very plainly stated that her company was tolerated, and certainly not welcome.

Still, there was no harm in checking to make _sure_ he wasn't occupying the library tonight. Her body hummed with superfluous energy as she veritably skipped down the hall, attracting the attention of several portraits that had previously been engaged in a sullen staring contest. She reached the familiar set of double doors and was about to turn the handle – when she caught the faint floating of voices from inside. One was his, that was for sure, but the other...it was decidedly feminine. She bristled immediately and without provocation, and leaned closer to hear.

. . .

"Let me get this straight, Lucius." Said Arden Lestrange, eyeing the murky jar of potion in his hand. "You want me to drink that so I'll turn into the little Siren girl you're taking care of?"

Lucius nodded, arms crossed defiantly over his chest.

"Either you'll do it or you won't, Arden. Don't play games with me." He warned, holding out the jar for her disposal. She took it grudgingly, her ink jet eyes cutting up at him in mild amusement.

"Well. Our history is extensive, to say the least. And I'm inclined to do this thing you ask, but on a few...conditions of my own." She said after several moments, crossing to the armchair and draping her lithe, curvy form across the arms. Lucius regarded her briefly and then took his own seat, steepling his fingers beneath his chin.

"I'll hear them, that doesn't mean I'll comply." He said, lifting a brow at the smile that curved the young woman's plush red lips. He and Arden Lestrange, daughter to the infamous Lestranges still entombed in Azkaban, had been lovers for over a year now. She was as pompous and arrogant as he and Narcissa were, with as much regard for pureblooded wizards as the Dark Lord himself. She had always seemed rather unaffected by her parent's unfortunate incarceration – in fact, if Lucius were a betting man, he would say that she was more than happy to carry on the Lestrange family tradition as a Death Eater.

"You're too good to me, Lucius." She said dryly, shifting so that she faced him. "I really don't want much. I just want your _full_ and _unyielding_ support when my parents are freed. I do not think they are competent as servants of our Lord any more – I think time in Azkaban has made them weak and drained their powers. There is no-one more qualified than I to take their place as Lord Voldemort's official Half-blood hunter. The other Death Eaters will say I am too young – you better be one of the ones who speaks up in my favor."

Lucius listened and was quiet for a moment, weighing his options. In truth, he agreed with her – he had visited the Lestranges himself and knew them to be shadows of their former selves. 

"Alright, Arden." He said after a time, shaking his head slightly and giving her a mirthful smile. "And in exchange for this, you will do what I ask – and never _ever_ breathe a word of it again?"

"Of course." She replied, rising from the seat and uncapping the jar. She winced at the smell of the Polyjuice Potion. "God, this stuff is rancid." Lifting it to her mouth, she paused a moment and gave Lucius another grin. "You better make this worth my while. I was in the middle of a fabulous book."

Arden wrinkled her nose and gulped down a mouthful of the gritty substance, grimacing something awful as it slid down her throat.

Lucius watched as she clutched her stomach, and crumbled to her knees, groaning softly under her breath. And then before his eyes, her raven hair shortened and took on a soft, bluish sheen. Her body shrank a bit, shoulders thinning and curves softening to smaller, round sides.

She lifted her face after a time, oil slick eyes now the soft, greenish hue of the sirenchild's. Lucius' face changed, his brows furrowed and a hard gulp rippled his throat.

"Get over here." He said roughly, extending a hand to her. "Now."

She grinned evilly and stood, refusing to obey. It was odd to see such an expression on Iphany's features – usually she was somber and serious, her softly arching brows knitted in a thoughtful line. The sight of her smile was like seeing a spot of sunlight through a stormcloud.

And yet as he gathered the girl in his arms, he could not help but feel that it wasn't right – her skin was cool beneath his fingers, her mouth when pressed to his did not fill him with the muted thrill of lightning. He pulled her into his lap as they sat in the chair, hands quick to tear at the now-oversized black robe and camisole she wore.

"Damn, Lucius." She said, still in Arden's low and husky drawl. "You've really got it bad."

"Don't talk." He seethed, for the sound of her voice reminded him that she was nothing but a imitation – an experienced imitation that knew exactly what part of his neck was most sensitive to grazing teeth – but nothing like real thing. 

He freed her of the dress and robe and cupped her small breasts in his hands, trailing his mouth from her collarbone to the round, pink center of a nipple. She responded in kind by swiftly and expertly moving to unbutton his vest. Her smell was Arden's – wild rose and smoke – but the soft velvet of her tongue felt just like it had that night he'd kissed her against the wall.

"Iphany." he said weakly into her skin, shrugging out of his vest and leaning back so Arden could better access the shirt beneath.

"Whatever." Arden replied, growing tired of buttons and ripping the fabric with her fingers.

And in that perfect, inopportune moment, as he was gently bending her body back and pressing his bare chest to hers - 

The real Iphany Novara opened the door.


	24. Rapt

Song of the Siren : Rapt

A/N: Nada. Enjoy! Nice loooong chapter.

// Rapt //

Lucius thought that he would have preferred anyone other than Iphany to walk through the door at that moment. It could have been Draco, Narcissa, Arthur Weasley – even Lord Voldemort himself and he would not have felt the level of dismay that he did when he saw Iphany's look of utter disbelief. To anyone else, the situation would have been explicable.  It was not silent for long, for almost immediately, Iphany cleared her throat and lifted a hand to her brow.

"Is there an explanation for this?" She asked, her voice low and without threat. She sounded almost...tired, defeated. The woman (with _her_ face) in Lord Malfoy's arms chuckled and disentangled herself. 

"Well, Lucius. This is truly a priceless situation, but I'm afraid I've got places to be if you're not planning on entertaining me this evening." Said Arden, inciting a sudden realization in Lucius. He glanced down at the half-nude Iphany-clone, then up at the real Siren hovering incredulously near the doorway. He dropped Arden, standing immediately and facing Iphany.

"Ow, Malfoy. You know, I d-"

"Get out of here, Arden." He said furiously, picking up her shed clothing and tossing it at her. "_Now."_

Arden smirked and slipped her robe over her shoulders as she stood, keeping a careful eye on the Siren at the door. Then when she was certain the other was watching, she slipped a careful arm around Lucius' waist, whispered something in his ear, and turned to step through the Floo-greened fired. 

Iphany shuddered and looked down at the bare feet, pale and puddling remnant beads of water from her swim. One would think there would be a thousand wild thoughts spinning in her head, but her brain instead remained curiously empty, echoing like the great ancient tick of the clock in the corner of the room. Lucius bent silently and picked up his torn shirt, slipping it on as he opened and closed his mouth, each thought discarded as ridiculous when presented with the prospect of voice. It was Iphany, finally, who broke the quiet again, her tone dead-flat and even.

"I believe it is in my best interest...and in yours... if one of us leaves." She said, making a very serious face as she examined a flick of dirt under her thumbnail. She could not allow herself look at him, to see his pale muscled chest lit and contoured by the firelight. He sighed; a thing interpretable as relief or disappointment.

"I know." He replied, buttoning up what he could of his chemise. Though when it came down to it, there were only three left that had not popped in Arden's violent attempt to disrobe him. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked at her, her sleek dark head bowed and her lovely jade-blue eyes cast downward. "I have a home in Beauriand, outside of Paris. I can stay there until you go to Hogwarts. I'll send Draco to stay with one of those dim-witted friends of his." He offered, surprised at how businesslike his tone was considering the fact that he was still painfully aroused from his encounter with Arden. Iphany nodded complacently, toying with the strings of her damp nightdress.

"I could go. There's no reason for you both to leave your house on my account." Iphany offered, shifting uncomfortably where she stood. The tension settling across the room was so vast and potent that it made her skin crawl and the small hairs on the back of her neck stand at attention. She had to admit – shamefully – that seeing herself half-naked and entwined in Lord Malfoy's arms was almost as erotic as the idea of doing it. 

"No, it will work out better that way. I will tell Lord Voldemort that I have business to attend to – perhaps – well, what it is doesn't matter. " He said brusquely, pushing up his sleeves and crossing the room towards her. Iphany lifted her head as he walked, stopping him in his tracks with her voice.

"Lord Malfoy." She said, surprised at the intensity her voice had taken. He turned to her, features hardlined in the low gray light. He lifted a brow in inquiry, glancing down at the girl. She lifted her eyes to him and took in a small, shallow breath. "I would rather be yours." She finished in a rush, gathering her skirts and fleeing through the heavy double doors.

. . .

The next morning found Iphany alone again in a manor twice the size of her own and a thousand times more complicated to maneuver. At first she thought, perhaps, that someone would come back and that she would not be alone anymore. After three weeks it became apparent that she was utterly and completely by herself. (Well, not completely. There was a nanny of sorts that woke her every morning, but spent the majority of her time in the east wing of the house being attended by House Elves. Iphany saw her twice during the course of the summer.)

The great halls of Malfoy Manor echoed with her footsteps and her lazy song that trailed through every room. Years later, long after she was gone, future residents of the house would swear by music and a high soprano voice resonating through the empty corridors late at night. She left a piece of herself in everything she touched, as Sirens do, marking every banister and sofa and plate with an invisible memory of 'Iphany'. Touching one of these "enchanted" items would result in sudden inexplicable nostalgia, a desire to see the moon, and a general sense of melancholy that lasted for some time.

She read thirty-six books, back to back, in the two months before Lord Malfoy returned from Beauriand. There were times when she thought she would go mad from the silence, for the walls sang endlessly of her footsteps and reminded her that her life was truly one of solitude. In these times, for a moment, she missed her father, even in light of the horrible thing he had tried to do for her. She knew now, had reasoned through reading and contemplation, that her Father had simply gone mad. A man who loves a Siren cannot live without her, and when forced to slowly loses his grip on reality. Her father had lasted longer than most, mainly because he had devious, awful things to occupy his time, like rape and torture and other such acts that drowned out the constant drone of Ilia's voice in the back of his mind. Such a song-memory is meant to be a curse to the one who dares take the life of a Siren, but when Man and Faerie have produced a child that lives and breathes on earth, a piece of the mother is forever imprinted on her mate's soul. If only Ilia had lived, Iphany thought bitterly one evening as she gazed over the top of her book at the fire crackling merrily in the hearth. These days it was nearly needed – the leaves had begun to turn, slowly blazing one by one into forever shades of violent red and emboldened copper. Iphany watched the indigo sky each evening as she swam, noticing that it darkened earlier and was more resplendent of cobalt than it had been in the early white-heat days of summer. 

It was the last week of August when she found her way to Lord Malfoy's chambers again, on one of her endless nightly wanderings through the manor. The gilded oaken doors were locked tight – but that wasn't about to stop Iphany. Alohamora wouldn't work – a Muggle trick involving a butter knife and a bit of oil did the trick.

The door swung wide onto a dark room, the only let-in light coming from the curtains that were spread wide to the blue night. Iphany inhaled deeply and felt her knees go slightly weak, awash with his scent – patchouli and soft spice and leather. She had not realized, really, how much he affected her until that moment. Her legs trembled as she approached the bed, running her hand over the deep green brocaded comforter. If the room smelled like him, the bed must be –

In the end, it was desire, rather than common sense, that motivated Iphany's decision to sleep in Lord Malfoy's bed. She pulled the heavy coverlets back and slithered between the cool silk sheets, breathing deeply again and again. What she was doing was very stupid, and that was something she knew innately. But there was something so inertly sensual about burying her head in _his_ pillow and kicking her slender legs around in _his_ black sheets that she could not resist indulging. She fell asleep almost instantly, the cool silver moonlight spilling through the curtains and playing sweetly with the smile she wore until the next morning.

"_Miss Novara!"_ The Nanny, whose name Iphany could not rightly remember, screeched as she flung open the door to Lord Malfoy's bedroom. 

"Mmmwhat?" Iphany mumbled, rolling over and snuggling her face closer into the black satin pillowcase. The Nanny gasped again and tugged the covers of the Siren's slip-clad body.

"I highly doubt when Lord Malfoy said you could go anywhere in the house that you pleased that he meant you could _sleep in his bedroom!"_ She shouted, grabbing Iphany by the arm and pulling her to a sitting position. Iphany groaned and through her hair, which had now grown to an inch or so past her shoulders. She had come to rather prefer it this length, it took less time to wash and almost seemed to flatter the contours of her face even more, if that was at all possible. 

"Oh...erm. I got lost last night." She offered lamely, not really caring if the woman believed her or not. She yawned hugely and slithered out of the bed, wincing as her bare feet hit the chilled marble floor. That was another downside to the coming of fall – the floors were freezing in the morning.

"Well – I can just imagine what Lord Malfoy would have done if he'd caught you in here." Nanny said hotly, pointing her wand at the bed and watching as the covers folded themselves back up again. She checked the room once to make sure nothing was out of place, and then hurried Iphany out into the hall.

Iphany could imagine what he'd _want_ to do if he found her in his bed, and the thought made her blush furiously and turn away from the portly woman admonishing her.

"What does it matter anyway, he's not even here." She said sulkily as they traipsed down the hall and back to Iphany's own bedroom. 

"Well, Mademoiselle, that certainly shows what you know. I received an owl from Lord Malfoy last night stating he would be home this afternoon, and that you'd best gather your things and be ready to leave for Hogsmeade by this evening."

Iphany stopped in her tracks as the older woman passed her up.

"He's coming back tonight?" She asked, a tremble of excitement landing in the pit of her stomach. She caught up with the woman and fell in stride beside her.

"No, he's coming back this afternoon, and you better be glad I found you before he did." She snapped, rounding the corner and gesturing in to Iphany's bedroom. The Siren heaved a sigh and scuttled inside, drawing open the blinds and letting the late, Indian-summer sun warm the wooden floors.

"Alright, I'll be ready. And don't tell him I slept in his bed." She said pointedly, opening her armoire and drawing out the first of her clothing to pack.

"Oh, I'm not. The last thing I want is to get strung up for not watching you better." The woman offered, backing out of the bedroom. "Call for breakfast when you want it."

But Iphany was not hungry for breakfast, nor was she for lunch later in the day. She had everything packed and in the parlor, per the Nanny's instruction, by a quarter after three. She waited on Lucius' arrival with an open book in her lap, looking but not reading, expecting that every crackle of the fire was the Floo network opening, that ever errant shift in the huge ancient manor was the growing sound of approaching footsteps.

She must have drifted off to sleep, because suddenly her dreams were filled with a vibrant green glow and there was a great shadow looming over her where she curled in the chair. Rousing with a jerk and a quiet mumbling mutter, she sat up straight and blinked, looking up directly in to Lord Malfoy's face.

Her heart did not beat – once, twice, and then took flight again with a flood of heavy thudding. 

"Are you ready?" He asked tersely, stepping back and offering a gloved hand. She took it eagerly, letting him lift her out of the chair and then releasing her as soon as she was steady.

"Yes, M'Lord." She intoned, gesturing to her luggage piled near the hearth on a trolley, much like it had been the morning she had first set foot in Malfoy Manor. He nodded swiftly and then moved to the hearth, reaching inside a carved glass jar and withdrawing a handful of Floo powder.

"Wait, aren't I going to need school things?" She asked as she stepped forward and joined him next to the fire.

"I've taken care of everything. I stopped by Diagon Alley before coming here and bought all of your robes, books, extra parchment and quills. It's all in the room at the Inn in Hogsmeade. We're staying there tonight and catching the first train to Hogwarts in the morning." He explained, tossing the Floo powder in to the fire.

"Wait, what –"

"Odette's!" He shouted, taking her by the arm and propelling her in to the fire. 

. . .

A swirling, jarring, uncomfortable trip later, Iphany was rubbing her sore elbows and glaring at Lord Malfoy as he made arrangements for their room at Odette's Grand Inn in Hogsmeade village. The entire place was covered in white marble and gold, and it was so glaringly bright that it made Iphany's head ache. Lucius had a brief argument with the clerk, who initially told him that they did not have any two-bedroom suites left in the hotel. 

"I made a reservation two weeks ago." He said firmly, pointing one long finger at the registration book. The scrawny-faced clerk trembled and stuttered as he shrank backwards.

"M-m-m-mister Malfoy, sir, w-w-w-we only have one room left a-a-a-and it is reserv-"

"Reserved for me, under my name, and if it's not, you can bet that this hotel will be shut down within the hour. I own half of this town, young man." Lucius seethed.

In the end, the manager came out and smoothed things over, promising Lord Malfoy his room and complimentary meals for the duration of his stay. This was quite pleasing to Iphany, who found that after her day of fasting and waiting, she was actually quite hungry. Lucius had made her wear a heavy, cowled robe that hid her face. She was hot and itchy and kept stumbling, since she could only see a few feet in front of her.

A porter led them up to the suite, which was on the tenth floor of the hotel and had a lovely view if the picturesque Wizarding village. Far off in this distance, the top tower-spires of Hogwarts castle poked over the top of the horizon. The room itself was quite nice, nothing compared to her house or the Malfoy's, but tastefully and expensively decorated in heavy-hanging silk and fine porcelain.

The walls of the "living room" were a deep, blood red, and the walls boasted a plethora of very ancient, sleepy-looking portraits of purportedly famous witches and wizards.

"Yes, that's Hogwarts." Lucius commented offhandedly as he joined her at the window. Iphany started. He had not spoken another word to her directly since they'd left Malfoy Manor, and Iphany was beginning to think he planned to ignore her existence entirely.

"I don't understand." Said Iphany as she stepped away from the window, more in part to escape the closeness. "The term doesn't start until the day after tomorrow. Don't most of the students take the train from London?"

"You aren't most students, Iphany." He said, a touch of amusement in his voice. Iphany's mouth turned up a bit at the quip. "No, I've brought you early because Dumbledore wished to meet with you before the term starts. He also has a mind to introduce you to your male teachers, to avoid any unpleasantries should the first sight of you catch them off-guard."

Iphany nodded and moved to sit on the huge, over-stuffed sofa across from the fireplace, which was already smoldering merrily and infusing the room with heat.

"There are things you will need to know, Iphany, before we entrust you on this little...errand." He said, settling across from her in a chair. She nodded expectantly, ignoring the shock of blonde-silver silk that had escaped the velvet tie at the nape of his neck to fall across his forehead.

"First and foremost – everyone is going to know you are my God daughter. This may prove to be a mild hindrance in the short run, as it is unlikely Potter will trust you if he knows you're connected to my family, and even less likely that those bratty little friends of his will let you anywhere near him. Your job is to say as many awful, depreciating things about myself, Narcissa and Draco as it takes for Potter to feel sorry for you." He began, eyes darting up at the brandy and glasses resting on the mantle-place. He continued to speak while he poured himself a glass, and as an afterthought, splashed a little into a decanter for Iphany as well. She accepted is hesitantly, wondering at his cordiality. Their last meeting had been nothing less than...tense. He had made no mention of it, and so neither had she – though she could not suppress a blush when she thought of the last thing she's said to him. _I'd rather be yours..._

"Next – and this is very important. Don't come on too strongly. I'm not saying Potter will notice – God protect any man you set your sights on – but I'm betting that Granger girl will. She and Potter and that awful Ron Weasley are practically inseparable according to Draco, and it's going to be difficult to get him alone at first. So be careful, be patient." He took a long pull from his brandy before continuing, grimacing ever so slightly as the fiery liquid burned down his throat. Iphany copied his movements, though hers was less gulp and more sip, and she winced more readily at the taste. Still, it gave her a nice, warm, tickly feeling, and she slowly nursed the drink as he continued his sermon.

"I can't tell you exactly what to do, because I'm not certain how things will go. You'll need to send me an owl every few days to relate your progress. Once you have him firmly hooked – give him a bit now and then, if you take my meaning – but don't sleep with him."

At this Iphany blushed quite furiously and stood to pour herself another drink.

"Tomorrow we'll go meet with Dumbledore, who, needless to say, needed a lot of convincing to allow you to start this late. And the fact that your father is a convicted rapist and murderer didn't bode well for your acceptance. But the governors and I spoke to him a bit about it, and he agreed to allow you to attend as long as you were quite clear about the rules your matriculation entailed."

"What rules?" Iphany asked, swallowing another mouthful of brandy. This stuff was rather good, she wondered why she'd never tried it before.

"Oh, stupid, petty things, really. You're not allowed to use your wiles to influence any teachers or students, that sort of rubbish. They did agree not to allow the other students to know your heritage, as it would certainly draw a great deal of complaints from the other parents." He responded, eyeing her second, fuller glass of brandy and noticing that this one was almost empty, too. She stood as he was talking, wavering slightly, and poured another. He quirked a brow but did not stop her, resolving to intervene if she went for a fourth.

"Fine, I can handle all of that. What about me, though? I'll not have a bunch of awful teenage boys pawing at me every time I turn around. And what if I brush up against one of them in the hall, touch their bare skin?" She dissolved into an inappropriate fit of giggles then, sloshing the amber liquid around in the snifter. "Imagine the poor boy – one minute he's walking down the hall, minding his own business – then – WHAM! Hah! Instant e-"

"Right, well, I suggest you make it a point not to allow anyone's bare skin to touch your own, then. Anyway, I've warned that Muggle loving fool about such matters, and he said should things appear to be beyond your control, to simply speak to a teacher and the matter will be resolved." He interrupted, not liking at all where her comment was going. She downed the last of her liquor and rose as if to pour another glass.

"I believe, Miss Novara, that you have had quite enough." He said, trying to keep the smile out of his voice and the arousal that had threatened to rise since the moment he'd laid eyes on her again.

"Oh." She said, disappointed, reaching up to set the glass on the mantle. She missed, and the glass went tumbling to the marble hearth, where it shattered into a million small pieces. One sailed up and dashed her neatly across the cheek. Her hand flew to the stinging wound and she turned in time to see an irritated Lord Malfoy rise from his chair.

"Damn it, you foolish child. Move out of the way, I'll clean it up."

Iphany fled to the bathroom as he bent to clean up the mess. As she stepped inside, the first glimpse she took of her face made the enchanted mirror burst into tears, just like the mirror had that first day at Malfoy Manor. She covered her ears with one bloodied and one clean hand and stumbled out into the hall.

"Oh, _Iphany._" He said, flicking his wand to solidify the pieces of glass back into a single entity. Iphany was wincing at the terrible sound, watching as he stalked into the bathroom and spoke a few quick words to the mirror. The sobbing ceased, and Iphany was again able to lower her fingers from her ears.

"I think we need to get you to bed." He said stoutly after performing a simple healing charm on the shallow scratch to her cheek.

"Yes." She said, glancing up at him in a manner that made him very uncomfortable. Ohh, giving her alcohol had been a very _bad_ idea. He led her in to the second bedroom and lit the candles in the corner.

"I'm hungry." She complained, hiccupping as he steered her toward the bathroom.

"Change in to your night-clothes and I'll have them send something to your room." He said tersely, not at all at ease with the way she was leaning all her warm weight against him. He untangled her and sat her in the vanity-chair in front of the bathroom mirror, which he had remembered to un-enchant before allowing her inside. 

In the end, the hot tray of soup and bread that materialized in Iphany's bedroom went uneaten. She stumbled back to the bed after Lucius left her in the bathroom, curled up on top of the covers, and fell instantly into a drunken sleep.

Lucius checked on her twice during the night, just to make sure she hadn't gotten sick or stopped breathing. The first time he felt sickeningly _nice_ as he pulled the covers over her and directed her head so that she lay on the pillow. Stupid little girl, he thought as he watched her murmur inanely under her breath and turn restlessly beneath the sheets.

The second time, which was several hours later, he was quite drunk himself, and stood for nearly half an hour as he watched her chest rise and fall with the effortless rhythm of sleep. His time away from her had been, to say the least, excruciating. He consoled himself with weekly, sometimes biweekly visits from Arden (more often than not under the guise of Polyjuice Potion, and this time without interruptions.) But he still fell asleep with the thought of her each night and woke up to the thought of her each morning. She was everywhere, he heard the ghost of her voice in every silence and saw her shadow in every half-shadow cast by a dying fire. It was madness, it was insanity – just the brief, impersonal contact he had helping her to the bedroom was like a reprieve of immeasurable proportions. And now he knew that absence did not make the attraction die – no, it only strengthened it, fanned the embers of unfulfilled passion until the sound of her – hell – _breathing _was enough to send him over the edge. 

Lucius Malfoy was a man of control, and he was losing it faster than he cared to admit.


	25. Abandon

Song of the Siren : Abandon

A/N: I sure wish I hadn't made this an every-chapter-thing, because now I feel obliged to put something here. Er...FISHSTICKS. :D Anyway, I am shooting to have this whole kit-and-kaboodle finished by the 20th of June, as I am moving to NYC for school and am not sure how much computer time I'm going to have. So. Get on me about finishing!!

// Abandon //

In spite of the comfortably plush riding-car they were given, the ride from Hogsmeade to Hogwarts was uncomfortable and jarring for Iphany. She was still under the umbrella of a nasty post-drinking headache, and the bright yellow sun creeping under the drawn shades was enough to make her feel ill again. She alternated between glowering at Lord Malfoy, cursing her for introducing her to alcohol with something as strong as brandy and squeezing her eyes shut to stave off another wave of nausea.

The train ride wasn't a long one, and Malfoy intended on utilizing his last half-hour with Iphany wisely. Though his coercive sensory brain told him there were better ways to spend thirty minutes, he had become practiced at shoving those ever-present, increasingly difficult-to-ignore thoughts down until they could be dealt with alone, or better yet, with Arden in an Iphany suit.

In the meantime, he ignored Iphany's murderous glances and slightly green complexion in favor of going over the plan one more time. When the drink-cart came by he ordered her a fizzy ginger ale and ordered her to drink it slowly, but otherwise gave no more mention of her delicate condition.

"Now, look. The Sorting Hat is most likely going to try to stick you in Slytherin without so much as a breath of contemplation. Argue with it if you have to, but try not to be obvious about it. Think 'Gryffindor' the entire time, and you shouldn't have much trouble. It's easier to confuse than one might think. Damn thing tried to put Potter in Slytherin at first, so I've been told." Said Lucius, making it a point not to look right at Iphany, who was curled into a distractingly nubile position on the seat. She claimed to remember very little of the previous evening, which was why he had to go over everything again. She nodded when he spoke, but didn't offer much in the way of conversation, so he continued.

"I probably won't see you again until the Masquerade in October, b-"

At this Iphany perked, lifting her heavy head from its cradle against her elbow.

"Masquerade?" She asked, lifting an eyebrow.

"Oh, yes. Forgot to mention that. This year, interestingly enough, is Hogwarts' one thousand year anniversary. The whole school year will be stocked with silly little activities to celebrate, but the biggest event will be on Halloween, when they hold a Masquerade ball. It's a very stupid thing, really, in light of everything that is going on, but Dumbledore is a stupid man, so I suppose it works out in the end." He said, parting the blinds and glancing out the window. Another ten minutes travel time would find them at the Hogwarts station. He could already feel the train slowing in preparation.

"Masquerade ball – so everyone's to dress up, in costume?" Iphany asked, managing to sit up and remain sitting. She could feel the train slowing too, and knew than in a few minutes she would be required to appear presentable. Lucius glanced over at her. His brows furrowed for an instant, and then he looked back to the window.

"That's what Masquerade means, you silly little girl. Students will be allowed to use Changing Charms on their hair and eyes and, of course, wear masks. The whole point is to be unrecognizable. At the end of the night everyone unmasks and there's a whole lot of 'oh, I never would have guessed', and all that rubbish. Should be entertaining, to say the least." He said, grimacing as the train let out a long, high-pitched whistle. In truth he was victim to a mild hangover as well, as he'd had to drink himself into oblivion the previous night to keep himself from charging in to Iphany's room and doing something very stupid.

"What will you be dressing as, then?" She asked, a light smile touching her features. Lucius made the mistake of looking at her then, and was almost knocked silly by the brightness her features took with something so simple as a half-grin. Instead he sniffed regally and cocked an eyebrow and looked down at her from over his nose. It was an expression that intimidated most, but did little else to Iphany but make her stomach tighten into a hot ball.

"You'll just have to wait and see, won't you?" He said, offering her a single quick twitch of his upper lip that served as a smile. Iphany gulped and turned red, and to hide this she ducked her head to examine the fine stitching on her silver robe.

The train pulled to a stop with a grinding of gears and a hiss of steam. Lucius stood and offered her his hand. She accepted it without hesitation. He nodded towards the small satchel she'd carried on, a parcel containing the four remaining slivers of her mother's necklace. She tucked the package inside her robes, and was rather surprised when Lucius took her elbow and looped it through his own.

"Now, child." He said brusquely, sounding rather as though he had something caught in his throat. She was temporarily unable to speak as he led her through the empty, narrow thoroughfare leading to the front doors of the train. "It would behoove you to keep a stony expression on your face. Be unreadable, untouchable and cold. Appear as though you'd rather be any place but at my side."

Little did he know that the five or so minutes he spent keeping her locked closely beside him sustained her dreamy musings for the next two months.

. . .

"Well, Miss Novara, as you know, the circumstances of your admission are odd, to say the least." Said Albus Dumbledore, peering over his half-moon spectacles at the sirenchild and at Lucius Malfoy, who stood behind her chair with a hand on her shoulder. Iphany nodded blandly and shrugged, shooting a quick, almost imperceptible spear of loathing up at the man who stood behind her. He did not seem to notice, but Dumbledore certainly did.

"The circumstances of my existence are odd, Headmaster. Why should my schooling be any different?" She asked, smiling fully at the old man. He could not help but return the expression.

"How right you are, Madam." He said mirthfully, steepling his gnarled fingers under his chin. Iphany had to fight to suppress a snort of derisive laughter from escaping. Lucius, on the other hand, couldn't have been more thrilled. Even Dumbledore could not hold up his suspicions for long when faced with a Siren.

The old man sobered again when he looked up at Lucius, and the elder Malfoy could almost hear the accusations whirling around in the codger's head. He probably though Lucius'd done all sorts of terrible things to the poor, innocent Siren. If he only knew…

"Well, that being said, I suppose I should let you try on the Sorting Hat, and then introduce you to some of your teachers. I trust you've brought the charms?" Said Dumbledore, shuffling creakily out from behind his desk and lifting his wand from his desk. Iphany nodded and fished the small parcel out of her pocket and laid on the desk before her. Dumbledore moved to the shelf where sat the slumbering Sorting Hat. He took it down and brought it forward, ignoring the grumbling protests the hat gave voice to. Iphany was surprised at its weight, it seemed to be made of some heavy fabric, like leather or many layers of sewn suede. She looked up at Lucius for permission, managing a stony expression for his benefit. He nodded.

The she plopped the hat on her head, fighting back a grimace at the thought of how many other grubby children had done exactly the same thing. The hat sputtered and mumbled, and all the while Iphany was thinking _Gryffindor, Gryffindor, you stupid old thing._ It was dead silent for several seconds.

"Er." Said the hat, and Dumbledore frowned.

"Gryffindor," Iphany hissed under her breath.

"No, I don't believe so." Said the hat, rather obstinately.

"Yes." Iphany said through gritted teeth, fighting the urge to rip it off her head and hurl it to the stone floor. Lucius' grip on her shoulder tightened a fraction.

The hat was quiet for another long moment, in which Dumbledore was just about to say something that might have ruined everything. But in the end, the old thing, tired and grumpy and not in the mood to fool around with people that shouldn't be Sorted right now anyway, gave a great sigh and would have shook its head, if it had only had one.

"Fine, then. Gryffindor!"

A rush of held breath threatened to belie her nervousness, but Iphany held it back admirably, and simply gave Dumbledore an innocent, apologetic smile. He eyed her for a moment – Iphany thought she saw a spark of doubt in those ancient crinkling blue eyes, but in the next moment it was gone, and he was moving toward the desk again.

"Very good. Now, let me call in the teachers..." He tapped his wand on a small silver sphere on the corner of his desk. Iphany heard the scraping of many footsteps, and the door behind them opened to admit four wizards of varying height and age. The first in was Severus Snape. Iphany recognized him immediately from her father and Lord Malfoy's description. He lifted his small black eyes to Lucius. Something brief and electric passed between them, a kind of mutual knowing. What Iphany noticed more readily, though, was that Snape looked away first. This puzzled her.

One by one, the teachers (and one curiously hideous looking man who was clutching a cat and snarling) assembled behind Dumbledore's desk. She felt their appraisal of her, each in turn – the instant flare of attraction and arousal, smothered by sudden shame and self-control. She bit back a smirk and glanced at them all very coolly, feeling oddly decadent basking in the attention. Above her, Lucius found himself fighting an unexpected surge of jealousy, especially towards the handsome young man who he assumed was the new Dark Arts teacher. 

"Miss Novara, this is Professor Severus Snape, your Potions Master. To his right is Professor Orion Renaud, your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Professor Flitwick is your Charms teacher, and that is Argus Filch, the school caretaker." Dumbledore made his introductions, and each of the men nodded at her. "This is Iphany Novara. She will be joining the sixth year students and completing her schooling here at Hogwarts."

The formalities were generally unnecessary, as each of them had already had a thorough briefing about Iphany, and about Sirens, and about what to look out for. Strangely enough, none of that seemed relevant when actually applied to the impossibly beautiful young woman sitting before them.

"Miss Novara has brought a set of charms that each of you will need to wear in order to avoid any accidents. Please treat them with the utmost care, as I understand that they are carved directly from the gem that Iphany's mother wore when she first stepped out of the sea." Dumbledore untied the parcel and handed each of the men an amulet. They all looked a bit miffed at having to wear something so ridiculous as a gold necklace to ward of the Siren -- Snape in particular was rather reluctant to fasten his around his neck, and even when he did so he wore an ugly grimace.

"Miss Novara is well aware of the powers she possesses, and has given me her word that she will never use them to influence her grade or her peers. Should you feel that she is violating this rule, I wish to be informed immediately. And if Miss Novara comes to me out of fear of one of you, trust that the accusation will be treated with the utmost seriousness. Is this understood?"

Iphany nodded, an action mirrored by the four men who stood in front of her. They had all chosen to keep their eyes on Dumbledore, save a secret, stolen glance in her direction when one thought his neighbor wasn't looking.

"Wonderful. Now, Lucius –" He said this in a tone that was not nearly as warm as the one he had used with Iphany or the Professors, though it certainly held a measure of politeness that Iphany found sickeningly false. "If you would care to see Miss Novara to the Gryffindor Tower. You'll find that you aren't alone tonight, Iphany, as another one of our other students has also arrived early. Harry Potter should be in the common room. He has been notified of your arrival" He said pointedly, and Iphany felt the surge of unexpected delight pass through her benefactor. She hid a smile behind a well-orchestrated cough, and wondered how Harry could have been notified of her arrival already. As Lucius led her out of the Headmaster's office, she began to wonder if Albus Dumbledore was as gullible as Lucius would have liked to believe.

. . .

"That went rather well, didn't it?" Iphany said in a near-whisper as Lucius escorted her up several flights of ornery stairs. He did not respond, and she frowned. She kept silent as they reached another landing. Down the hall there was a huge handing portrait of a large fat lady in a pink dress. Iphany's upper lip curled.

"Do you remember the password Dumbledore told you?" Lord Malfoy asked colorlessly, glancing down at her. She nodded and opened her mouth as if to speak again, but was distracted by a scrape of movement from the portrait. It appeared to be opening. Lucius noticed it too, and in a split instant, he had her shoulder in a painful grip.

"I should have known they'd put you in Gryffindor. You're barely better than a Mudblood yourself, you little whore." He hissed, and then he reared back and struck her, hard, across the face.

Iphany crumbled wordlessly to the ground, too shocked to offer any kind of protest. She heard the click-click of footsteps fading as he descended the stairs. Hot tears pricked her eyes – why on earth had he said such a dreadful thing – and why hit her?

All of those questions were answered in an instant when she looked up and saw the boy with messy black hair standing over her, offering her his hand.


	26. Craving

Song of the Siren : Craving

A/N: Nothing.

// Craving //

Iphany blinked hazily up at the Harry Potter, shaking away the tears of pain and surprise. Of course. What better way to convince Harry of her ill-fitting status in the Malfoy household than for him to see Lucius strike her? She almost grinned at the brilliance of his quick thinking, and forgave him readily for hitting her.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked, his tone low and worried. Iphany let her face melt into one of despairing hurt, but she did not accept his hand. Instead she heaved herself up from the ground and as she dusted herself off, she mustered a few more tears for his benefit.

"Y-yes. I'm fine." She stammered, lifting her eyes to meet his. She felt him flutter and pause, knocked breathless by the first full sight of her beauty. He colored and tore a hand restlessly through his unkempt hair, parting the unruly mass long enough for Iphany to glimpse the infamous scar hidden beneath. He finally drew enough courage to offer her a tentative smile, and she returned it fully.

"I didn't mean to...well, I heard you were coming, you see, and I thought-"

"Don't apologize. It isn't the first time he's handled me so roughly." Said Iphany, glancing darkly down the flight of stairs. Harry's brows furrowed.

"That's terrible." He offered lamely, though he wasn't sure what else to say. Drawing on his own experience, he offered her another boyish smile. "I've enough nastiness at home myself, so I probably understand better than most. I'm Harry Potter, by the way."

Iphany nodded as she brought her fingers gingerly to her cheek, which was indeed tender to the touch. She scowled, a thing that was rather appropriate in light of the situation. He didn't have to hit so _hard._

"You live...with Muggles, don't you?" She asked, fighting to keep the disdain from coloring her voice. She might have regained her sense of feeling and emotion, but she was still Icarus Novara's raised daughter. Harry nodded and began gesturing towards the portrait-hole, which was still open in his haste to approach her.

"Yeah, my Aunt and Uncle. They're horrible people, but...I imagine nowhere near as horrible as the Malfoys." He offered this tentatively as she climbed through the portrait hole and in to the Gryffindor common room. Iphany glanced around before answering – this place certainly wasn't much to behold, though if she were so inclined she might deign to call it "cozy". All the wall hangings and tapestries were of a deep scarlet and vibrant gold; a stark contrast to the emerald green and silver she was so used to in the Malfoy household and her own. A fire blazed neatly in the hearth, and a worn oval rug stretched comfortably across the shiny wood floors. Yes, cozy was the best word.

"You're probably right about that. I don't suppose they curse you when you speak out of turn at dinner." She said wryly, glancing at Harry to see what kind of reaction this would invoke. He appeared to be appropriately appalled, and she relaxed. Perhaps she would not have to try so hard at this as she had originally thought.

"I'm sorry," She said suddenly, turning to him and startling him slightly with the sudden full-on direction of her misty green gaze. "I've no idea where my manners have gone. I'm Iphany Novara."

"Yeah, I know. I've been told a great deal about you." He said, almost bashfully as he skittered around the back of the couch and sat down. Iphany suppressed a grin as she followed suit, curling up on the opposite end of the plush red sofa.

"No doubt warnings, I'm sure. But still, you should count yourself lucky. None of the other students know who and what I am." There was a bitter edge to her voice, and Harry frowned. If nothing else, he knew what it was like to be lauded or cursed without provocation.

"If it's any consolation, I won't tell them." He said, and was rewarded with another of her room-brightening smiles. He found, though, that it almost made him silly to look at her for too long, and had to alternate between staring at the fire and chancing quick, heated glances at her face.

Iphany knew that dance all too well. She had become accustomed to it, grudgingly so if nothing else. The only person she had ever known to look her in the face and not immediately flinch away was the perpetrator of the stinging ache in her cheek. The thought of Lord Malfoy made her chest burn with her next hitched breath, and she found that it took a moment to push the vision of his cold steel gray eyes from her mind. In that time she had fallen silent for several moments, and Harry was blinking expectantly at her from behind his small, round glasses.

"Why are you here early, then? My reasoning is my own, and has to do with avoiding unpleasant confrontations with the male professors. But what about you?" She asked gently, careful to make sure that her voice maintained a sincere tone. This pretending was giving her a headache already, and she was reminded that she had not swam since the previous afternoon, when she had gone out early just before going in to the parlor to wait for Lord Malfoy. She was beginning to feel the first tickling of fatigue and dehydration, and hoped that dinner would come soon and she would be permitted to go to the lake, as Dumbledore had promised. Her nightly swims had been accounted for in this manner, that a female escort would always be provided, and that she was not to wade into water any deeper that her shoulders. He had offered her a conjured pool in the winter, one that would be secluded and warmed by an enchantment. She then informed him that cold water did not affect her in the slightest, and that the only way an enchanted pool would be preferable would be if the lake froze completely over. 

She almost didn't hear Harry's response because she was so busy pondering this matter and thinking that she would much rather be out swimming than listening to this poor, doomed boy make small talk with her.

"...And they're all worried about me again, since there's been news of Voldemort's rise. The Death Eaters are apparently active again. In fact, I think they arrested one just recently, a –"

"Icarus Novara. My father." Iphany said tightly, her rosebud mouth set in a firm white line. This emotion was not forced, thought it was fleeting. Harry winced, mollified by his transgression.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I knew that, I just..."

"Forgot. It's alright. I have no bearing over what my father did, or what he does. His involvement with the Dark Lord was kept secret even from me, as he knew I would not have stood for it." Iphany found that lying became easier the more she did it, and now the half-truths came tumbling out of her lips as easily as the truth would have.

"Ah. So you don't know...if Mister Malfoy is..."

"A Death Eater? I have my suspicions, but they are just that. I will say that he is a cruel and heartless man, with no regard for the feelings or comfort of others. Staying at his manor this summer was the closest thing to Hell I can imagine." She said glibly, turning to Harry, eyes impressively wet with tears. His dark brows knitted and he looked very much like he wanted to comfort her, but wasn't quite sure how. She cleared her throat after a moment and gave him a watery smile.

"Thank Merlin for Hogwarts, though, right?" She said lightly.

"Right." Harry grinned.

. . .

Professor McGonagall came to fetch them for dinner a few minutes later, and found the two teenagers engaged in a lively game of Wizard's Chess. It appeared that Iphany was winning, but the Professor wondered if it was simply because Harry could not keep his eyes off of her long enough to make any intelligent moves.

"Mister Potter, Miss Novara – if you would like to join us, we will be taking dinner now." She said, eyeing the sirenchild dubiously. It was in the older woman's nature not to trust anyone that wasn't completely human. She had run across many women with Veela blood and found the lot of them, no matter how strong or weak the lineage, to be generally quite snobbish and sometimes pretentious to the point of true fault. Still, this Iphany Novara had led a difficult life – posh and padded, but difficult. She suppressed the nag of doubt with a gentle self-reminder that everyone deserved a chance, no matter how human or not-human they appeared to be.

She made her formal introductions to Iphany, noticing that the young woman seemed almost hesitant to take her hand. Minerva was willing to bet that she would have a real difficulty dealing with the female population of Hogwarts, especially when it became apparent that she was the most beautiful girl in all four houses. In the entire world, whispered a small voice, and Professor McGonagall could not deny that it was probably true.

The trio slipped out of the portrait hole and out into the stairwell, waiting patiently as one flight shifted and turned to allow them passage. Harry and Iphany kept up a light banter all the way to the smaller dining hall normally reserved only for teachers during off-school seasons. Minerva was surprised at how well they seemed to be getting on – in her six years of knowing Harry Potter she had never thought him so amiable with strangers. 

The dining room was long and narrow and sported a single table that stretched the length of the hall. Harry and Iphany sat near the end, flanked by Dumbledore at the head and Professor McGonagall to his right. Professor Renaud and a strange, gauzy looking woman sat across from them, and the diminutive Charms Professor was at Dumbledore's left. The rest of the Professors had chosen to take dinner in their own respective quarters.

Talk was comfortable, if not a little formal for Iphany's benefit. Dinner passed without much incident, though the odd looking woman with large spectacles sitting across from her (Harry identified her as Professor Trelawney, the Divnination instructor) refused to stop staring mournfully in her direction. Harry informed Iphany later that the flighty woman had given him the exact same look since his third year, and no amount of persuasion could convince her that he was not doomed to a horrible death. (Iphany thought privately when he told her this that he was indeed doomed, though she couldn't be sure how horrible his death would be.)

An hour or so after dinner, after Iphany had been shown to her dormitory, Professor McGonagall came up to fetch her for her evening swim. Iphany was immensely grateful for this, as dinner had been veritable excruciating in the way of waiting for her opportunity to test the waters of the lake.

As she followed the older woman down the endlessly shifting stairs and out on to the grounds, she reflected lightly on her living situation. She would have one roommate, a girl Professor McGonagall had identified as Rebeckah Oberstein. Apparently the girl was from a Pure-blooded family, though Iphany could not recall ever hearing the name Oberstein before. Still, she was glad to only have one roommate, when the rest of the incoming students had three. This Rebeckah Oberstein was a Prefect, McGonagall told her, and had been contacted over the summer and had agreed to share her single-room privileges with Hogwarts' newest student.

Iphany wasn't entirely comfortable with the thought of sharing a bedroom with someone. She'd barely ever shared a house with another person, let alone a bedroom half the size of hers. Perhaps her roommate would be of the quiet sort, inclined to remain to herself and not bother Iphany much.

When they finally reached the lake, Iphany was a little tentative at first in exploring it. The lake bed was mucky and muddy under her feet and choked with tangly weeds. In the end, the seductive call of moonbathing won her over, and she spent the better part of an hour wading carelessly through the water, dunking her head now and again and surfacing in an explosion of silver splash and song.

Minerva McGonagall was quite certain she had never heard anything so beautiful as the sound of Iphany Novara singing. And this was a very vast statement, as the older woman had heard the fullness of a Phoenix's song and heard choirs of winter pixies serenading a snow-drawn sleigh ride. But the Siren's song pierced her bones, bore into her heart and lay there as though it belonged. It was unnerving, unsettling, and at the same time she could not force herself to plug her ears. Iphany's song would haunt Minerva until her dying day, a covetous secret she kept even after the truth of the Siren's loyalty was revealed. 

Iphany didn't make any allowances for the fact that Professor McGonagall might not want to sit out by the lake for very long. At an hour and a half she heard the woman calling her from shore, half-turned away to afford her the dignity of dressing before emerging full from the water. The Siren sighed plaintively and trudged up on shore, again aware of the sludgy lake bottom and how the brownish mud squished wetly between her toes. She wiped her feet on the grass, grimacing in disgust, and wondered if she should perhaps take Dumbledore up on his offer of a conjured pool.

Professor McGonagall left her at the mouth of the girl's dormitory and suggested that she get a good night's sleep. Iphany smiled angelically and said she would, but knew that after such a long swim she would be up until the earliest hours of dawn, It didn't matter, anyway. She could survive on little, or even better, no sleep. She often preferred to go sleepless for a few nights in a row, it seemed an awful waste of time to spend half of ones life inert and motionless in a bed.

And that considered, Sirens in general did not sleep much anyway, except for on the night of the true new moon, when they hadn't the strength to move more than a few inches at a time. So Iphany lay in her narrow bed for quite some time, staring up at the gathered canopy and wondering at the direction her life had taken. She could not exactly say she regretted that events of the last few months, because most of her life she had secretly wished for an adventure. Working for Lord Voldemort was close enough.

Avoiding the thought of being his "mistress" at the end of this whole ordeal had become a regular skill for Iphany, who chose to believe if she ignored that aspect of her involvement, perhaps it wouldn't really come to pass. In her heart, though, she knew that she of all people with her powerful blood and physical perfection, would be the only woman considered worthy to share the Dark Lord's bed and bear his children. Their offspring would be gifted beyond belief, but Iphany covertly wondered if Voldemort knew that she could only birth females. He must, she reasoned, her father must have told him. Or perhaps he hadn't, because he knew that would sour the deal, that Voldemort would want a strong son to rule by his side.

Iphany rolled restlessly in her bed, tangling the sheets around her legs. The moon half-grinned through the large windows, slightly obscured by the spidery branches of high growing trees, but still light enough to illuminate her room with a dull bluish glow. She turned away from the window, knowing that if she met the moon's eye she would be infused with even more fidgety energy and then she'd never be able to get to bed.

Tap, tap, tap. The all-too-familiar sound of a hard owl beak hitting glass rang like chimes in the still quiet, and Iphany leapt out of her bed to let Diablo in. He sailed through the open window, bringing with him the faintly pungent scent of burning leaves. It was a smell Iphany was not familiar with, for on Shallycob there were few trees who shed leaves in the fall, and a bonfire was only built once yearly, a few hundred yards from Clingman's Cove to celebrate the vanquishing of the evil Sirens all those years ago.

"Hello, you beautiful thing." She said softly, running her knuckles over the bird's sleek onyx back. He hooted appreciatively and then nipped her gently, making her take notice of the envelope fluttering from his leg. Frowning, she bent and untied the green silk ribbon, eyes widening when she recognized immediately the Malfoy seal.

Diablo clucked at her, requesting permission to fly to the Owlery and seek refreshment while she read and composed her reply. She waved him off absently, tearing the envelope open with eager, slightly shaking fingers.

. . .

Lucius had been quite tired when he finally Apparated inside the library at Malfoy Manor. Being polite to that insufferable, Muggle-loving fool of a Headmaster always made him rather cross, not to mention the fact that he was forced to spend a lot of close-quarter time with the sirenchild and be constantly reminded of the ever-present throb of longing she aroused in him.

He poured himself a drink and then carried it to his bedroom, surprised and rather suspicious to find it unlocked. He was quite sure he'd locked it upon his departure, more out of distrust for the Nanny he had hired than distrust for the Siren. The door swung open at his command, revealing a room that appeared to be in order – he had a keen, scrutinous eye, and if anything had been moved even a fraction of an inch, he would have known in an instant.

Warily he moved to the bed, noting that it was made exactly as it had been when he had left those months before. Shrugging off his caution, he set his drink on the bedside table and moved to the bathroom to wash and ready himself for bed.

When he slid beneath the sheets a few minutes later and laid his head against the pillow, his eyes drifted closed of their own volition. Exhaustion gripped him like a steel vise, squeezing out any coherent thought. He turned his head to the pillowcase and drew in a deep, steadying breath –

And then his eyes snapped open and he sat straight up, for the scent that filled his nostrils was not his own, but something achingly familiar – lavender and sea lily, redolent of lightning. He closed his eyes for a moment and he saw her face, remembered the smell from the time he'd kissed her. He had tangled his hands in her hair and for days – _days _her scent clung to his skin, no matter how many times he tried to wash it off.

_You've lost your bloody mind, Malfoy_. He seethed, running his fingers through his own hair and inadvertently scrubbing that distinctly _Iphany _smell all over himself -- it hugged his scalp and would for weeks. But at this point he still did not believe it was real, and would not have if he had not noticed the wisp of jet hair clinging to his palm. He turned and examined his pillow and stared dumbly at the three or four strands of black littering his pillow.

She'd slept in his bed. The thought was so suddenly and innumerably erotic that he felt the immediate heat of an erection pierce his groin. He lifted a hand to his forehead (a lavender-lily-lightning scented hand) and breathed in, swimming in madness and loving every moment of it.

And then he reached over in the drawer beside his desk, drew out a leaf of parchment and a quill, and wrote Iphany a letter. For once he did not hold back, he did not censor his words – he said exactly what he wanted to say, his arousal demanded it of him. Later he would regret it, but right now all he could do was imagine her face when she read his words. _My Dearest God-Daughter…_

. . .

_My Dearest God-Daughter,_

_I will apologize in advance for the candor of this letter, and must say with great conviction that it will be the last of its kind. Our weekly correspondence should be as vague as possible to avoid the exposure of any sensitive information. That being said, I take a chance in writing this now, as there is no guarantee that this letter will reach you before daylight. I hope that it does, and I hope it finds you in good spirits._

_I can picture you now, Iphany, sitting in your Gryffindor dormitory, perhaps in your narrow child's bed with your knees drawn to your chest and your ridiculous little-girl nightgown gathered around your thighs. Tell me, is that what you wore when you slept in my bed? Or a little less, perhaps? Your scent clings to everything it touches. I have half a mind to change my sheets and forget...but that would be sensible, and I don't feel particularly sensible right now._

_And so I wonder if you're frightened now. I admitted once that I wanted you, but you thought it was the same as every other hot-blooded man who looks your way and wishes with all of his heart that he could feel your skin beneath his. No, Iphany, I believe I am different. I have had to rescue you more than once, and to live daily with the knowledge that you are forever beyond my reach. If you were not Voldemort's..._

_And what was it you said to me as you were running out of the library that night you caught me with Arden? You would rather be mine. I think that's right. I think you would._

_A belated apology for hitting you earlier this evening. I'm sure you understand the necessity now. Pleasant Dreams, Miss Novara._

_Lucius Malfoy_

_P.S. Destroy this._

And at once he crumbled the paper in his hand, smearing the still-wet ink into a dark blue blur. Oh, wouldn't that be rich, to send her something so full of confession, so ripe and dripping with his own weakness and need? Still...it was nice to picture her face if he did send it. He imagined her flush, pink creeping into alabaster cheeks and a glossiness awakening in her eyes.

He heaved an Iphany-scented sigh and took out another piece of paper. This letter he folded, sealed, and sent out with Diablo before he could change his mind.

Miss Novara – 

_Belated apologies for striking you earlier. I am sure you understand my reasoning now. I hope you are settled in to Hogwarts, and that everything is in order. Write me twice weekly concerning your progress, and be as vague as you can, as most of our letters will go by way of regular Owl Post._

_Regards, _

_Lucius Malfoy_

_PS – Enclosed are the four black hairs I found on my pillow when I got in my bed this evening. You must have truly meant it when you said you'd rather be mine. My advice to you is to do your duty as I do mine, and forget things that die before hope can surface._

And at the very bottom, in small script and against his better judgment, he wrote :

_I can still smell you all over me._

. . .

Iphany read the letter a hundred times, specifically the last four sentences. Her face, indeed, was flushed a vibrant scarlet, particularly over the last line. At first she thought it some kind of joke, that he must be playing with her again, but when she unfolded the letter fully and shook it four long blue-black hairs floated to the ground. She could not decide where to be embarrassed or excited or indignant – and eventually settled on a combination of the three. She knew she could not write him back now, her hands were shaking too badly and she was afraid of what her wayward pen would write. So she curled under the covers instead, drew her knees to her chest, and stared at the stone wall mindlessly until dawn.


	27. Coerce

Song of the Siren : Coerce

A/N : Little delay in getting this one written, just because I was so prolific for several days in getting something to the tune of 20 pages written in 72 hours. 20 days 'til the big move!!

// Coerce //

"You've really nothing to be nervous about. At least you don't have to ride across the lake, like the first years do." Said Harry pleasantly as he turned to Iphany from his perch at the window. It was falling on late evening, and the Hogwarts Express would arrive within the hour to deliver students to the school. Iphany defeated the urge to roll her eyes at Harry's attempts to console her – he'd picked up on her nerves over the past several hours or so, and thought them related to the coming of the other students.

He could not have been farther from the truth. Iphany was somewhat adverse to the idea of joining a body of people her own age, but it wasn't because she feared acceptance or ridicule. She simply had no patience with teenagers. The real reason behind her skittishness and irritability was folded neatly and stuck beneath her mattress and signed with the flourish of Lord Malfoy's hand. She had been debating her response to his letter for the entire day, toggling between keeping things vague and businesslike, as he'd requested, or penning something covertly wicked and just suggestive enough to make him burn.

"Oh, I know. You're right." She finally said meekly, glancing down to examine her knotted fingers. Harry smiled and slid down from the windowsill, tentatively approaching her and sliding next to her on the couch. Iphany secretly thought that if winning him over had been any easier, they might as well have sent a Muggle with missing teeth.

In reality, she did not know that it truly is impossible for a young man to resist a Siren. Older men, men who are more wise and experienced, can stave of the effects of desire more readily, as long as the Siren is not making a direct attempt at seduction. (And when that is the case, there are _none_ with the ability to defy.)

Still, she did not count her victory yet, as his kindness to her had been fairly perfunctory, if genuine. He certainly did smile and blush a great deal more than he did around other girls- (even Cho Chang, whose face, once a distinct part of his boyish fantasy, had become a curious, flesh colored blur in his mind.) Iphany knew she had to be careful, for the teachers were watching her. They tried to be very inconspicuous and quiet about it, but she felt the suspicion as clearly as if it were spoken. There was no doubt that a kind of resentment had already boiled and ripened amongst the professors – perhaps it was because of her heritage, or half-humanness, but somehow she knew it had more to do with her father than anything else. And her God-father, for that matter, who still obviously posed a threat. The real challenge would not be making Harry Potter fall in love with her, but convincing everyone else that she loved him, too.

Not far off, there was a shrill whistle, and Harry's face brightened. 

"The train's here!" He exclaimed, pushing off the couch and rushing for the portrait hole. "Come along then, Iphany. Ron and Hermione will be the first ones off, if I know them."

Iphany beamed back at him in return (Harry Potter's legs went to jelly, and he was glad there was no need to speak as they descended the stairs into the foyer, because he wasn't sure his throat would have complied.) The sirenchild, in turn, was mulling over _Ron _and _Hermione_, the two people she knew she would have to worry most about. During one of the few conversations she'd had with Draco over the summer, he'd fairly bashed the two Gryffindors, warning her that she'd be an enemy in their eyes before she had a chance to open her mouth. And Lord Malfoy told her that they would be the greatest obstacles in gaining Harry's trust. Apparently the three of them were a kind of gang, and had managed to foil Lord Voldemort's plans more than once through sheer, stupid luck. 

Iphany heard a thousand feet tromping through the grass and up the stairs, and she found that despite her silently professed readiness, she was a bit nervous. She stepped behind Harry as the doors opened and the students poured in, feeling slightly safer since only her eyes were visible over the tall boy's shoulder.

Her hiding place wasn't safe for long, as only a few moments after the first few children thudded into the hall was there a great scuffling from the middle of the crowd. Two people burst through, one tall, gangly redheaded boy (Weasley, Iphany thought immediately, fighting a sneer) and a girl with a head of massively curly hair. They charged Harry with shrieks and laughter, and Iphany was knocked a few feet backwards by their enthusiasm.

"Hey! Harry! Boy, we missed the train ride without you!"

"Ron whined the whole time, I thought I was going to h-"

"Oy, 'Mione, I did not, you were the one-"

It was suddenly quite apparent that there was something amiss, because as soon as Iphany was in few full of the crowd, the roar of giggling and shouting and talking had subsided to incredulous whispers and wide eyed gawking. There was a traffic jam of black-robed bodies at the entrance to the hall, people were standing on tiptoes and pushing aside neighbors to see what the fuss was about. Iphany lifted her head very high and stepped up to Harry, ignoring the sudden frown and furrowed stare of the bushy-haired girl to his right.

"Who is _that?"_ someone whispered.

"I don't know – she looks like-"

"Alright, everyone, move on, now. Time to get to the Great Hall!" Came a voice – Professor Renaud had waded through the crowd and seen the half-circle formed around Harry, his friends, and the silent Siren standing near the staircase. "Let's go, come along."

The whispered lifted to buzzing, and Iphany felt the dual stares as the students filed past – the awe and longing from the boys, and the instant malice from the girls. She noticed that Harry had stepped almost protectively in front of her, waiting until the last of them had moved towards the Great Hall before joining the throng.

"Erm, Harry." Said Ron as they walked, almost stumbling when he wouldn't quit staring at Iphany. "Aren't you going to introduce us to –"

"Oh, Sorry!" Said Harry, pausing as he gestured at Iphany. "Ron, Hermione, this is Iphany Novara. She's just transferred here, she's a Gryffindor, too!"

"Hullo." Hermione said, her politeness a very obvious shade of forced. "Where did you transfer from?"

"I was taught at home." Iphany said quietly, lifting her eyes from Harry's shoulder to rest on the ginger-haired girl with the Prefect badge pinned to her collar. Hermione offered a smile that was a little more genuine than her tone, and Iphany relaxed a bit. Ron, on the other hand, was frowning. As they moved in to the Great Hall, he cleared his throat and asked –

"You're the one who lived with the Malfoys this summer, aren't you?"

Hermione's eyebrows shot up and Harry flinched, already tuned to the sensitiveness of this subject. He tried to deflect the question, but Iphany answered easily. 

"Yes, Ron. I am."

Ron looked as though there was something more he wanted to asked, but did not get the chance, as the next moment found them taking their seats at an unusually quiet Gryffindor table in the middle of an unusually quiet Great Hall. Most of the students not facing the Gryffindor table had craned their necks to see it, as the strange, unfathomably beautiful new girl seemed to be settling down to sit with Harry Potter and his friends. One or two people whispered that she must be a Veela, to look like that and carry so much grace and poise, but this idea was quickly shot down when someone reminded the speculator that Veelas had blonde hair – and besides, this girl made a Veela look like a hag.

The Slytherins were particularly vocal, especially when Draco informed everyone that she had stayed at his house _all summer_, and that she was a terrible boring stupid Gryffindor. 

Dumbledore stood up and made his usual jovial start-of-term remarks, though they fell on a slightly distracted crowd. Once the food appeared, things got a bit louder, and people were reduced to shooting long, broken glances at the new girl in Gryffindor. Iphany, in the meantime, was feeling horrendously ill, for apparently a feast at Hogwarts meant every kind of braised, stewed, roasted and fried meat available for consumption. She did not offer much in the way of conversation as she poked sullenly at a plateful of potatoes and greens and sipped readily on her goblet of pumpkin juice. The boys within her immediate radius weren't too keen on eating either, and many a mouthful of food found its way onto an unsuspecting lap during her first dinner at Hogwarts. Ron finally addressed Iphany after he couldn't stand it anymore, interrupting Hermione's account of her vacation.

"I'm sorry, but I've got to ask, Iphany –" (at this he lowered his voice so only she and Harry and Hermione could hear) "Is it true Narcissa Malfoy tried to poison you this summer?"

All three looked at her gravely, Harry in particular who had not been given this information yet and felt a little displaced that she hadn't offered it willingly. Iphany downed her mouthful of juice and shrugged, wiping her fingers daintily on her napkin.

"Yes, it's true. She dusted the pages of a book I was reading with Vedonia powder, and after a few days, enough of it got in my system and made me sick." She looked directly at Ron then, who blanched at the sudden warmth creeping into his skin. "How did you know?" She knew very well how, his father was the one who had apprehended Lord Malfoy and drug him from his own house to be questioned. It was horrendously difficult not to look sour about that thought, both at the idea of anyone manhandling Lord Malfoy and the knowledge that it was her fault he'd been falsely accused.

"My dad works for the Ministry." Ron replied, glancing over at Harry before continuing. "Your dad is Icarus Novara, r-"

"Look, Ron, why don't we talk about something else?" Harry said, noting the look of displeasure that crossed Iphany's face at the mention of her father. She gave him a grateful smile. The boys moved on to chatter endlessly about Quidditch and captains and how excited Ron was to finally be on the team. Iphany went back to eating, unmindful of the curious glances Hermione threw her way. Unlike the boys, she had noticed that the strange new girl hadn't eaten any meat, and that she had looked positively green when it first appeared on her plate. Hermione's brain was working madly – there was something not right, something odd in the way the girl's sea jade eyes shone almost too brightly beneath her heavy curtain of lashes, the way her hair shone an almost ethereal blue in the candlelight, the way her pale skin seemed to almost glow, like starlight. She could not be compared to a Veela, though she seemed to invoke the same, if not a stronger reaction in males as did the shape-shifting creatures. She seemed innocent enough, but the word _dangerous _kept popping up in Hermione's head no matter how many times she tried to suppress it.

Later, when they were trudging overstuffed and sluggishly up the stairs to the Gryffindor tower, Harry was the only one who did not looked puzzled when Professor McGonagall took Iphany aside and lead her away from the group and out onto the grounds. Once in the common room, Ron and Hermione questioned him about it, but he simply shook his head and said he wasn't sure where the new girl had gone.

. . .

After her swim, Iphany tried to slip unnoticed through the tower, but still managed to attract a bevy of silent stares as she made her way to the Girl's Dorm. There was a chorus of raised eyebrows at her scraggly wet hair and damp robes, and she made a mental note to fabricate some find of excuse should someone be so bold as to inquire about her nighttime ablutions. She sincerely hoped that interest would wane as they grew used to seeing her every day. Somehow, though, itdidn't seem likely.

She'd entirely forgotten about having a roommate, and was humming softly to herself when she walked into her room and began shedding wet clothes. There was a rustling from the other bed and she started, grabbing her robe from the hook by the bathroom door and quickly wrapping it around her body.

"Oh, hullo. You must be Iphany." Said the girl, peeking out from between her curtains and then sliding out to greet her. She had long, strawberry-blonde hair and pale blue-green eyes a few shades duller than Iphany's own. An unabashed smile crossed her face. "Where've you been? I'm Bekah, by the way."

Iphany gathered herself primly and lifted her chin, a thinly fabricated smile crossing her face. "Nice to meet you." Was all she would answer, moving to her bed and pulling the curtains around so she could dress in private.

"Everyone's been talking about you, you know." Came Bekah's voice, slightly muffled by the heavy drapery. Iphany rolled her eyes as she reached under her pillow and pulled out a clean nightdress, shrugging of the makeshift towel and pulling the soft black silk over her head.

"I know." She answered after a moment, pulling her hair back and fastening it in place with a rubber tie. She parted the curtains again and looked at her roommate, who was perched on the end of her bed with a quill and parchment in hand. 

"You're something else, I can tell that for sure. Where are you from? Your accent is –"

"A little island off the coast of Scotland," Iphany replied, feeling a little more at ease. This girl was not glaring meanly at her in hopes her face would suddenly catch fire or her nose would slide off. She appeared to be rather sensible, and that at least was a comfort. "In a town called Shallycob."

"Never heard of it. Is it a Wizarding village, or just a halpher?" Bekah asked, scribbling something down on her parchment, quill scritching softly across the paper.

"Neither. All Muggles. My dad and I were the only wizards on the island that I know of." Iphany said stretching out on her bed and resting her chin on her folded hands. The writing reminded her that she needed to reply to Lord Malfoy's letter. (A quick, thrilling shiver took her at the thought of him, and she shook it away with a great deal of effort.) She glanced at the window and wondered if Diablo would come from the Owlery soon. He always seemed to know when she needed him.

"Hmm. I'm from Yorkshire, myself." Bekah said absently, concentrating again on her writing. Silence settled over the room, broken only by the sound of the quill dancing across the paper and the occasional chink of the tip against the sides of the ink well. As Iphany had expected, only a few minutes passed before she heard Diablo tapping against the window. She was glad for the interruption.

Bekah looked up as Iphany darted for the window and let the owl in. "Wow," she said, adjusting her glasses to get a better look at the pure black owl lighting on the dark-haired girl's shoulder. They made a striking pair, as the bird's feathers had the same odd bluish sheen as his owner's hair. "Pretty owl."

"Yes, this is Diablo." Iphany said affectionately, holding out her arm so the black owl could hop down and flutter over to settle on the bedpost. He regarded Bekah with wise, unblinking yellow eyes and uttered a single, soft hoot. "He was my father's." She added as an afterthought, relieved that the thought of her father was one of mild malevolence and resentment, and something akin to pity.

"Oh? Is he dead?" Bekah asked bluntly, finishing up her letter with a flourished signature and crease-folding it three times to send in the morning. Iphany blinked back a scowl and shook her head.

"No. He's in...he's in Azkaban. And I'd rather not talk about it, if it's all the same to you." She said snappishly, calling a leaf of parchment from her open trunk with a forefinger. The lid of the trunk thunked closed with a similar gesture. Bekah was silent for a moment, wordlessly offering her still-wet quill and pot for Iphany's disposal. The Siren accepted without much in the way of a thank-you, taking the inkpot and quill and parchment to her bed to compose her reply to Lord Malfoy.

Lord Malfoy- 

"That was neat, what you just did." Said Bekah after several minutes, scooting back and worming her way under her quilt. Iphany looked up, piercing gaze harsh and bright even from across the room.

"What was?" She asked, holding her quill over the inkwell to keep it from dripping all over the parchment. Bekah shrugged and made a fluttery motion with her fingers.

"Calling the paper without a wand. I've never seen anyone do that before."

"You haven't?" Iphany asked, a little more quickly than necessary. Drawing attention to her natural Witchcraft would lead to questions that would eventual beg answers. The Siren knew that the best way to fulfill her plan without a hitch was to appear as normal as any other student, and it had not occurred to her that most other students could not perform wandless magic.

"Nuh uh. Can you teach me?" asked the pale-haired witch, obviously treating it as some sort of peace offering for trodding on Iphany's Daddy issues. Iphany didn't answer, preferring to drop the subject entirely and concentrate on her letter to the Lord of Malfoy Manor. Bekah, somehow not surprised that her new roommate hadn't bothered to answer her question, eventually drifted off into an even, comfortable sleep. Iphany was momentarily envious of the girl's deep, regular breathing and the ease with which she slipped into slumber. The only time she'd even known such swiftness in sleep was when under the heavy hand of exhaustion or alcohol. 

Silence, though, gave her the opportunity to decide what exactly was the appropriate response to a letter like Lord Malfoy's. She closed her eyes and traced the feather's soft tip over her lips, mind wandering without heed to a place that allowed her a brief moment of fantasy – something like

Dear Lord Malfoy – 

_I've an idea. Take your loyalty and toss it. _

Her eyes snapped open and she giggled faintly at the idea. The noise roused Bekah, who rolled restlessly in her sleep, gave a light little snore, and then was quiet again. Iphany tapped the quill impatiently against the parchment. The last line of his letter was the only thing keeping her from being entirely straightforward and pragmatic with her reply – he had opened the door, and she felt it was time to stick her foot in it.

When her pen finally started moving it was as if by rote, the words scripted like fluid smiles in her flawless spidery hand. Her letter did not take long, and when she was finished she called Diablo down with a whisper and tied the sealed envelope to his leg.

"You can wait 'til morning, if you like." She said softly, tapping him lightly on the beak with an extended forefinger. He gave her a disparaging sideglance, as if to question her seriousness. Iphany grinned and offered him her arm, a perch he accepted with the utmost dignity. She carried him to the window, opened it, and allowed him to sail into the thankless black night, the only sign of his departure the faint rectangular outline of the letter dangling from his claws.


	28. Association

Song of the Siren : Association

A/N: Thanks to Jake and his mad editing skillz.

// Association //

September 1, 2001 

_Lord Malfoy-_

_Reactions are as expected, with the exception of my roommate. Oberstein – is this a name with which you are familiar? Apparently she is pureblooded. She seems sensible enough, and has not made any moves yet to disfigure me. It is my impression that such atrocities were on the minds of most of the other females old enough to consider me competition._

_I have met a lovely boy; he is in my year and has the most peculiar scar on his forehead. He seems perfectly content with my heritage, and has even made some efforts to protect my anonymity. I believe he may be exactly what I need. He has two friends that do not seem entirely amenable to my presence, but I imagine this sort of malevolence will fade in time. Either that, or the boy – did I mention his name? Harry Potter – will eventually find my company to be preferable to theirs. Time, as I've said, will be the deciding factor. _

_Your apology, in the meantime, is accepted._

_Regards,_

_Iphany._

_P.S. In return, I ask forgiveness for any discomfort my sleeping arrangements may have caused you. Perhaps next time you can be present when I commit such a transgression._

. . .

September 7, 2001 

_Miss Novara,_

_I am pleased to hear that your roommate is not a bother. Oberstein is in fact a pureblood name, though I believe the family only dates back to the early nineteenth century. How clever of Headmaster Dumbledore to consider my sentiments when placing you with a roommate. Do not worry about the other girls – jealousy is something a child of your nature must learn to endure with a smile._

_This boy you speak of sounds rather dull, if harmless. Do watch yourself, my dearest Goddaughter, and remember that being civil and friendly to his current companions may make it easier to win his trust. I do hope you are enjoying yourself, nonetheless. Have your swimming arrangements been accounted for? It pains me to envision you splashing about in that lake, as the kinds of creatures present in its depths are not the sort one would wish to meet unarmed. I believe there is a tribe of Merpeople that resides at the bottom of the lake; it would most likely be in your best interest to avoid their ilk altogether. _

_Keep in mind the masquerade ball in October. Any costuming needs you may have can be taken care of in Hogsmeade. See a Madame Rotacao at Witch Wear and tell her to bill all charges to my account._

_I hope you are enjoying your classes. Potions may prove to be particularly difficult._

_Behave yourself._

_Lucius Malfoy_

_P.S. It isn't right to dangle food just of the reach of a starving man, especially when the nourishment is of the poisonous and not to mention **forbidden** variety._

. . .

"You sure have been spending a lot of time with Iphany, Harry." Hermione said one day as she and the Boy Who Lived were walking through the hall to their History of Magic class. Harry blushed at the sound of the Siren's name, but managed to keep a serious face.

"I'm helping her out, Hermione. No one else will talk to her." He replied easily, pausing a moment to peer out a window and appreciate the blaze of color autumn had flung against the trees. For once, the Forbidden Forest looked almost inviting.

"That's not true. Bekah talks to her all the time. I've seen them studying together." Hermione pointed out as they rounded the corner. Harry was about to answer when he caught a glimpse of Iphany standing alone next to the doorway to Professor Binns' classroom. His face broke into a smile as she recognized him and fluttered her slender fingers in a wave. Hermione rolled her eyes as Harry patted her arm and rushed up to join Iphany. In all honesty, there really wasn't anything wrong with the new girl, except for the fact that she was slowly draining more and more of Harry's time from his other friends. Hermione still had her doubts about the pale, raven-haired beauty, but begrudgingly admitted that she seemed rather harmless. The tickling sense of question the new girl aroused in her had been someone stifled when Harry offered a bit of information about Iphany's background. Apparently her home life had been an experiment in terror, and her life at the Malfoy's was something Hermione could only imagine.

So in the end she resigned to the fact that Harry, like the rest of the boys in school, was smitten, and it was an infatuation that would eventually cool once he recognized her faults and her humanity.

Irony truly is the last great comedy.

. . .

_September20, 2001_

_Lord Malfoy-_

_I am settling in to the routine here, and I am finding it to be quite different to what I am used to. Different, but not unpleasant. It seems I still have much to learn in the ways of relating to my peers. .My schooling, as well, is proving to be bothersome, time consuming and tedious. I suppose it serves me right for being so far ahead of everyone else; my boredom is of my own making. I know you requested that I write you more frequently, but I simply do not have the time. Rest assured that all pertinent information should be delivered in a timely manner._

_Bekah Oberstein and I get along well enough. She sometimes asks questions I do not feel compelled to answer, but has the good sense not to push issues I'd rather not discuss. I have heard her defending my name to a few of the other girls who seem to think my sole purpose in coming to Hogwarts was to steal everyone's boyfriends. What a silly, stupid thought._

_As for boys, I believe my relationship with the one I mentioned in my previous letter seems to be progressing exactly as it should. I suppose that is all you need to know._

_Potions class, as you said, is difficult. Though it is not the subject matter to which I refer. I do believe Professor Snape has an intense hatred for the Gryffindor house in general._

_We are scheduled to make a Hogsmeade visit on the sixth  of October, those of us who will be buying our costumes. I pity the students who must make their own – The Weasleys in particular seem to be having a difficult time of locating the proper materials for creating theirs._

_Don't worry. I always behave myself._

_Fondly,_

_Iphany_

_PS- It is not food I am offering, my most estimable Godfather. But in that respect, I have always heard that forbidden fruit often tastes all the sweeter._

_. . ._

_September 27, 2001_

_Miss Iphany-_

_I have spoken to Draco recently, and it seems the two of you aren't getting along very well. He related a particular incident to me that occurred during Herbology involving your young Mister Potter and that Weasley boy. Shame on you for threatening to rip his necklace off.  I believe that would not only embarrass him, but incriminate you as well. Remember that your admission into Hogwarts is contingent upon the fact that the rest of the students' parents are unaware of your " lineage." We certainly do not want your education to suffer because your little secret managed to slip out._

_I will be staying at Hogwarts overnight on the evening of the masquerade. I think it would be wise if the two of us met to discuss your progress at school._

_Tell me, have you received your first kiss yet?_

_Sincerely,_

_Lucius_

_PS – Your words echo in my own experiences. The one taste of that which I cannot claim was delicious beyond all imaginings. _

_. . ._

"I don't understand." Said the Siren Renali, opening her eyes and glancing up at the quarter moon. Around her, the two shadowed shapes of her last remaining sisters floated silent and still. White teeth and moon-caught eyes were the only things visible between the crash of silver waves. A passerby, even an aquatic one three feet to the side would not have noticed their presence.

"You still cannot reach her?" Asked Otilde, who was normally very quiet and serene and unlikely to offer much in the way of concern or contemplation. The three of them had grown more and more anxious over the last few months, as repeated attempts to contact their earth-bound kin proved to be fruitless. They could still see her at times, and although she seemed to be following the path they expected, certain distractions were beginning to emerge as more and more worrisome. 

"No. And I don't think Ilia can, either." Renali responded grimly. The clouds above shuddered and oozed back across the moon's fingernail spear. It had been a starless night until the Sirens decided to try and seek Iphany in her dreams again. 

"We can't be sure of that. It's hard to tell if she's tried or not." Alba finally interjected, wincing as the gray heavens became a wide lightless mass of thick, unyielding thunderheads. Where the ocean met the sky, there was a brief, indeterminable flash of lightning. They would need to take shelter beneath the coral grove soon, as a sea-storm and its violent waves could quickly become dangerous even to creatures that were adept at swimming.

"She will seek us eventually." Said Otilde softly, following her sisters as they ducked beneath the next rising wave. A few moments later she felt hands clasp her own, and each set of cold fingers seemed to convey the same surge of dying hope.__

_. . ._

_October 3, 2001_

_Lord Malfoy,_

_Wouldn't you say that my kissing is my own business? If you must know, the answer is yes. Though I don't believe you can ignore the fact that it was not my first. Poor Harry, unlike you, does not have the luxury of wearing a charm to ward off the potency of my touch. Let me be vague and say that our first experience was...short._

_Saturday we go to Hogsmeade to look for costumes. All but one or two of the students in Gryffindor are buying theirs. I have the most fantastic idea for mine – maybe if I disguise myself well enough,, I will be able to spend a single night without having to ignore a thousand stupid boys' gawking stares. Who knows – perhaps I'll even be able to fool you._

_Yours,_

_Iphany_

_PS –His mouth is where yours should be._

_. . ._

_October 6, 2001_

_Iphany,_

_I think your delusions of avoiding attention for a night will end in disappointment. It is not only your beauty that attracts, but also an air you carry about you that ignites and soothes in the same breath. Still, I admire the attempt. Though take my advice and don't do something silly like dress as a hag or a banshee._

_I doubt any of your other schoolmates will be acquiring their costumes from Ms. Rotacao's clothing shop. It is disgustingly expensive, and a bit out of the way. I think I may go down to Hogsmeade this afternoon myself and see if she has the fabrics I require for my accouterments. Perhaps I will see you there._

_It may please you to know that a certain person who once tried to do you harm has been apprehended. Elaborations can be arranged in person._

_Cordially,_

_Lucius_

_PS – You tread on dangerous ground. I suggest you cease and desist before I am compelled to regrettable action._

_. . ._

_October 6, 2001_

_Lucius,_

_Since you saw fit to address me by my first name, I think it only fair you allow me to assume the same familiarity with you. You won't receive this until after (if) we meet in Hogsmeade, but I have a spot of free time before everyone gathers to leave and I thought I would write._

_I think I can safely guess the person to which you refer. I hope appropriate actions were taken. I notice you did not mention my romantic attachments again – I certainly hope my previous letter did not make you...uncomfortable._

_If all goes well and I am as lucky as I have been in obtaining the affections of certain classmates, I will bump into you this afternoon._

_Yours,_

_Iphany_

_PS – If I remember correctly, it was you who took the first step. I am merely making it a dance._


	29. Unravel

Song of the Siren : Unravel

A/N: Nada.

// Unravel //

Getting away from Harry hadn't been easy, mused Iphany as she trudged up the winding stone pathway that led to Madame Rotacao's shop. The sun shone white and warm in the cloudless blue October Sky, and a stiff breeze made the rusty orange leaves turn merry cartwheels down the cobbled street. The store was nestled amidst a small neighborhood of houses, stuck between two Victorian style homes as picturesque as molded gingerbread. The late garden flanking the path was in its last bloom, carrying a heavy perfume of honeysuckle, violet and some wild earthy herbs Iphany could not name. When she finally reached the top of the hill, she was slightly out of breath and she was fighting back a nervous grin of anticipation.

It had taken a great deal of convincing to break away from Harry, who seemed to think her incapable of navigating Hogsmeade on her own. She pointed out that she couldn't very well surprise him with her costume if he saw her creating it, and he finally resigned to allow her to venture off on her own as long as she promised to meet him for a butterbeer at half past three. The agreement was sealed with a friendly kiss that was only now becoming tolerable for poor Harry, who still suffered instant arousal every time his unprotected flesh touched that of his Siren girlfriend's.

Iphany paused before the door of the shop, glancing at the etched frosted glass and then down at the doorknob, which was jeweled gold and shaped like a butterfly. It fluttered surprisingly when her fingers closed around it.

It took her eyes several moments to adjust to the cool darkness, so bright was the midday sun outside. Bunches of dried herb and bluebell blossoms hung in every colored glass window, shades that cast soothing squares of stained light onto the polished wood floors. Iphany stepped forward into the small foyer, turning to her left to see the first room full of clothes.

Witch Wear, a name that rung a faint bell in Iphany's head, (she'd swear there was a store of the same name in Diagon Alley) seemed a poor description for the jewel toned robes and dresses suspended from every available rack and hanging in rows on walls between the windows. She approached the first rack and held her hand out to touch a soft robe of the deepest brushed purple. The fabric was like silk, but finer, as light as summer sunlight spun into thread. She clasped the hanger and drew the dress out – it was tailored to skim hips and flared out into a wide skirt made of petaling cloth in every shade of lilac and rose she could have imagined. Small diadems were sewn here and there in the folds, catching the dim light of the room and throwing a thousand prismic sparkles around the walls. Iphany checked the price tag and her eyes widened – five thousand Galleons.

"Hello?" came a little voice from the next room, and Iphany looked up in time to see a witch with feathery blue hair sweeping in through the doorway. She hastily hung the robe back on the rack and stepped from behind the stand of dresses.

"Hello." She answered, surprised when the witch's wide brown eyes lightened in a smile.

"I know who you are!" She sang merrily, shuffling forward and grabbing Iphany's wrist with her soft wrinkled hand. Iphany tried to protest as she was dragged in to the next room, through a hallway and into a small sewing room.

"I'm – excuse me – I'm Iphany Novar-"

"Yes, yes. Lord Malfoy's Goddaughter. Said he'd be along later today, but told me to give you whatever you wanted – no regard for cost – I like to hear that! Now, what do you want to be?" Said Madame Rotacao, releasing Iphany's arm and moving over to lift her wand from the table. Now Iphany finally had a chance to look at the room she'd been pulled in to – thousands and thousands of swatches of fabric covered every available inch of wall space – including the ceiling. The effect was somewhat dizzying, and Iphany fought to concentrate on the woman before her. That in itself was a task – Madame Rotacao was what even the Wizarding world would call eccentric, with her long flowing robes of opalescent satin, her thrice bejeweled fingers and shocking cobalt hair that curled to just below her shoulder blades. She appeared to be in her early fifties, but moved like a woman half that age.

"What do I want to be?" Iphany asked stupidly, still wildly overwhelmed by the suddenness of her encounter. Madame Rotacao smiled and lifted her wand, moving to tap a small square of cloth colored like verdant spring grass.

"Yes, dear. Perhaps...butterfly? Hmm. Tight green, long purple and orange train...like this?" With a whirl and a whip of her wand the green fabric jumped off the wall, followed by two other bits of cloth in shades of grape and pumpkin. Iphany watched in awe as the fabrics shimmered and spun, lifting and twirling to form a bodiless shape that looked vaguely akin to her own. The green made a strapless shift that shimmered in the trapped light, and the orange and purple fabrics swelled and fell from either invisible shoulder like a flowing pair of wings. Iphany opened her mouth, but couldn't find the words to correctly describe her first impression.

"No. Alright, dear. Just an idea. Tell me what you want." Said the seamstress, dispelling the cloth and shooing it back to the wall. Iphany cleared her throat and shook her head.

"Well," She began, "I'm not...I want to go as the Sun." She finished quickly. Madame Rotacao eyed her dubiously, and then her face broke into a smile.

"How funny. How appropriate. You know...never mind. Why don't you step out of your robe and let me measure you. Oh, don't look so bashful. You've nothing I've never seen before. Come on, step out."

Iphany complied hesitantly at first, but then felt more comfortable when she realized the witch wasn't gawping at her at all, and had turned to fiddle with a small box on her sewing table. Iphany shrugged out of her school robe and then pulled her sweater over her head, finally stepping out of her skirt and kicking the pile over to the corner of the room.

"Better." Said Madame Rotacao without turning around. With a flick of her wand a measure of tape came sailing towards the Siren, wrapping itself around her waist and then moving on to size various other parts of her body. She giggled faintly when it slid the soft lines of her ribs, and then laughed out loud when it tucked itself beneath her armpits. Madame Rotacao was busy writing something on a piece of parchment attached to a clipboard.

"Tiny little thing, aren't you? No problem. So, the Sun, hmm? I suppose that's because you're so used to the moon. Think coming with flaming red hair and a dress made of gold will make you look the exact opposite of the way you do now, hmm?" 

"How did you..."

"Oh, come on now. Lucius and I are old acquaintances. He told me enough. So, do you want something simple and innocent? Or how about...sultry. Revealing. If you do things right, no-one will ever be able to tell exactly who you are, and they can't get on to you for wearing something a little...over the top. By the time midnight rolls around all the grownups will be sloshed, anyway." Said Madame Rotacao, and Iphany's face went bright with a grin.

"I want to look...perfect." Iphany confided, resting her small hands on her slender, gently rounded hips. The seamstress turned to her and mirrored the smile.

"That's right. So what should be start with? Gold. Yes. Like this."

A strip of bright spinning floated off the wall and touched against Iphany's skin. It tickled as it grew, sliding over her curves and rising over her chest, tightening gently as it formed a boned bodice firm enough to gently crush her breasts together. Iphany looked down, amazed. Madame Rotacao eyed the bodice dubiously, and then snapped her fingers. From nowhere came sailing a line of diamond and topaz gems, carat sized pieces that attached themselves at alternating intervals to the decollate of the top, crusting down to form perfect effigies of spreading rays. The blue-haired woman shook her head and frowned. "Not quite right…" She muttered, waving her wand again. In came strings of gems in the same colors, hung like tiny thin strands of beaded sunlight beams. These fastened at the shoulder baring sleeves of the top, dangling a few inches down her arms.

"Woohoo! Now we're cooking. Work on the rest later. Now…hmm. A skirt. You liked that old purple number in the front hall, didn't you? I know just the thing."

In a mad swirl of copper, bronze, scarlet and gold, thousands of strips of feather light, gauzy luminous fabric appeared, growing from her bodice in long inch-wide streamers just barely thick enough to shield her pale legs and hips from view. Interspersed were the same strings of jewels, long enough to match the length of the fabrics that brushed the floor. Iphany shifted experimentally – every tiny breath of movement resulted in an explosion of reflected light and color. Her breath caught in her throat at the magnificence of it all.

"Very nice. Something from the back..."

Iphany craned her neck to see as firm ridges, like thin copper wire, sprouting from the fabric covering her shoulder blades. Like dragon's wings they arched straight behind her, spines webbed between in sheer chenille colored the same rich gold as the bodice. As an afterthought, tiny rubies bloomed where the wings met her back, spreading out like flames.

"You'll need a mask, but we can look through shapes up front. I've also got a small jar of ground gold dust – I'll let you have it, since this costume's going to feed me for the next year. You can sprinkle it all over your shoulders, cheekbones – hah, anywhere you deem appropriate. I'd charm your hair a dark red-gold, if I were you, and just for contrast, see if you can get your eyes a nice pale blue. Here, look at yourself." Said the costume Madame, whose ideas came so quickly and so energetically that Iphany felt exhausted just listening to her. The woman behaved like she had six bottles of Pepper-Up Potion inside her.

Iphany's jaw fell open when a hundred petals of colored swatches parted on the far wall to reveal a mirror hidden underneath. Thank Merlin it wasn't enchanted. The Siren stepped forward, and looked at her dress, watching the skirt catch the light, turning to see the rayed wings jutting out from her shoulders. Perfect. It was...

Up in the front of the shop, a bell tinkled, and unmistakable bootsteps thudded inside the empty foyer.

"Madame Rotacao?" Called a familiar voice. Iphany looked frantically at the seamstress.

"Coming, just finishing up with your little girl." 

In a flash, the costume lifted itself from Iphany's body. The wings detached (Madame Rotacao explained that she could re-attach them with a simple charm) and the lot of it was slipped under a velvet dress-bag, dark and black and perfectly concealing the contents. Iphany was wriggling back into her school pinafore when the seamstress swept out into the shop. She heard the muffled voices, low as though for the purpose of concealment. She could only wonder what they were talking about as she tucked her shining, just-below-the-shoulder blue-black hair behind her ears and smoothed it down. She checked herself in the mirror once – far from the sun-goddess who had stood just moments before, but still nothing to cringe at. She slipped her arms into her black school robes, patting the Gryffindor crest absently as she stepped out into the shop.

Madame Rotacao was showing Lord Malfoy a bolt of deep, sparkling black velvet. His back was to Iphany, but he stiffened almost immediately when he heard her first footstep.

"Miss Novara." He said, turning on his heel and abandoning the costume mistress, who wore a smile for half a moment before folding the fabric and slipping it into a small sack. Iphany held her hand out, grinning regally like a duchess at a tea party. Lucius almost stopped dead at her expression – gods, did she have to be so...

"Godfather." She said smoothly, and the term was so mockingly indecent that it he nearly laughed. His mind immediately plucked from memory one of the lines from her letter – _his mouth is where yours should be..._

"You look lovely." He said, and he meant it.

"As do you." She replied cattily, and meant it. Lucius was dismayed at the change in her – a little sexual experience with that dolt Potter had made her bold, and suddenly she was unafraid of eyeing him, little nymphet – he wanted to take her and shake the sultry out of her. Underneath still lay the glaring purity and innocence, which made her all the more oh _Merlin_, not _now –_

He took her hand and kissed it swiftly, much more so than she would have liked. "Have you decided on your costume?" He asked brusquely, not noticing when Madame Rotacao slipped out of the room to inspect her collection of masks.

"Oh, yes." She replied absently, sidling up next to him as he attempted to ignore her by leafing through a hanging row of fabric. Her shoulder brushed against his as she lifted her hand to touch the same piece of cloth -- her fingers whispered over the backs of his knuckles. She smiled, but was quickly thrown into panic when he jerked his hand back, grabbed her fingers and crushed them in his own. He dragged her to him, firmed her small body to his as he growled in her ear.

"Listen, you." He said, and his voice made Iphany's entire body dance with lit nerve endings. "I know we played a silly little game in the letters. My mistake for initiating it. Understand that I was unaccountably aroused by the thought of you sleeping in my bed –" With this he couldn't resist drawing his hand around her midriff, bearing her back so that he held her tight against him. She tilted her head up, her mouth just brushing his chin.

"I can on-"

"Quiet." He commanded, gripping her more tightly, twisting her arm painfully behind her back so that it was trapped between his torso and the curve of her spine. She winced, offered a plaintive struggle. "This may be the fun of a schoolgirl crush for you, imagining that one day I'll succumb and-"

"You will." She interrupted, and her breathy proclamation prickled the flesh at his throat. He jerked her painfully backwards, maintaining the closeness.

"We won't do this." He said forcefully, cheating as he lowered his head and inhaled deeply of her midnight hair. The scent made his head swim. His lips were at her forehead now, breath hot against her skin. "God damn you, Iphany. This means my life. If we...he will kill me, probably you too. If you weren't his, I'd –" He trailed off, lost, bewildered, hating her for the rolling desire in his gut, the trembling uncertainty in his hands. Her words were sweet and torturous when they came.

"You'd what?"

He pitched her forward, flinging her mercilessly into the rack of handing cloth-bolts. She lost her balance, grabbing uselessly at the flimsy rods and tumbling to the ground. The rack snapped and collapsed on top of her, burying her under a dozen rolls of brightly colored textiles.

"Send me the bill." She heard him snap at Madame Rotacao, and then the wild slamming of the shop door -- so hard that she heard the glass shatter and rain like a thousand shards of hail to the smooth wooden floor.

"Oh, dear." Said Madame Rotacao as she stepped into the room, quickly assessing that the breathing pile of tangled fabric was indeed her customer. "Let me help you up. Very strange relationship the two of you have." She began pulling the bolts of cloth to the side, revealing the red-faced girl underneath, who looked less like tempting seductress and more like frightened child than anything else. Tears streaked down her cheeks as she babbled apologies. Madame Rotacao waved her off, giving voice to a quick charm that assembled the racks in perfect order again.

"It's not a relationship." Iphany said shakily, feeling of her upper lip. Her fingertips came back dotted with scarlet. She ran her tongue over her lip, grimacing at the acrid coppery tang of blood.

"Of course it is." Said Madame Rotacao, pulling a handkerchief out of her robe pocket and daubing gently at Iphany's face. "I'm no fool, and I've known Lucius a long time. You should have seen his face when he heard you enter the room – and aside from that, a dress from my shop isn't something to sneer at. It's a lover's gift, something presented to wives or mistresses. And even – well, he's been in here before, letting that wife of his pick what she wanted. Never let her design her own dress, _never_ said "no matter what it costs". Not with her, not with his – oh, that Lestrange girl. He can afford it, mind you, but he never let them do what you did – come in and make a dress expensive enough to feed a family of six for a decade."

"There are reasons." Iphany said cryptically, again regaining control of her emotions and wiping furiously at the stray tears leaking out from beneath her lashes.

"I'm sure there are, dear." Said Madame Rotacao absently; fingering the roll of silver flecked black velvet she had been showing Lucius when Iphany had walked in. Iphany shook her head to clear it, sniffing pitifully and exhaling a shuddering breath.

"Did you find a mask?" She asked.

"Yes, dear. I went ahead and colored it for you, got everything in a pile up front. Shall I keep it here for you, just in case, and then have it sent the day of the ball?"

"Please." Said Iphany. She wanted to get out of the shop as fast as possible, to get away from the memory-image of being so close, so warm – even the flare of pain in her twisted shoulder felt like a pleasant dream, the soreness in her lip might have been a bruise from kissing. Try as she might, she could not loathe him for hurting her. For the first time, his words rang true – 'he will kill me, probably you, too.' It echoed all the way back to mid-town Hogsmeade, buzzed like insects as she smiled a plastic smile at Harry and slid next to him in the booth at the Three Broomsticks. She let him slip an arm around her, let him rest his uncertain adolescent hand on her skirt-covered thigh. 

Later that night, (or rather, very early that morning) things almost went a bit too far in the hidden shadowed corner of the Gryffindor common room. The tiny frantic kisses to the exposed flesh of her thighs were not Harry Potter's – she had closed her eyes as soon as he led her back here, imagined that the affectionate mouth on hers was not that of a sixteen year old boy, but a man – she fought past the taste of butterbeer and chocolate frog and imagined brandy and blood, thought perhaps the tickling soft fingertips over her ribs belonged to long, pale hands.

"Stop." She said breathlessly, before it was too late. "We can't."

"Why?" Harry wanted to know, and Iphany opened her eyes. She was filled with a deep, black, boiling resentment at the solemnly aroused little-boy face that greeted her.

"I'm not ready." She lied. "It's too soon. Besides – not like this."

Harry heaved a sigh and broke away from her, his skin screaming instantly at the lack of contact. It almost hurt to touch her, so intense was the pleasure wrought by touching her body that seemed too warm to be human. He fumbled for his glasses and slipped them on over his nose. "You're right." He said finally. "It's barely been a month. You're just..."

"I know." Iphany said, surprised at the sudden tears springing to life in her eyes. Irresistible. Undeniable. No point in trying to say no, she thought bitterly as she gave Harry a soft parting kiss to the cheek and departed for her dorm room. _Men do not follow you because they want to. They do it because they have to. They have no choice._

"Where've you been?" Bekah asked when she came in. It was too dark to see the anguish on Iphany's face, the red in her eyes and the throbbing lip aggravated by fervent kissing. She did not answer and climbed immediately in to bed.

But when she lay her head down on the pillow, something small and rectangular and flat crunched under her cheek. She reached for the wand at her bedtable and muttered, "Lumos."

"Yeah, that came an our or so ago. Your crazy owl doesn't seem to know when the hell regular Owl Post is supposed to run." Bekah offered, listening as Iphany tore open her letter.

October 7, 2001 

_Miss Novara-_

_It's a little after midnight, and in the importance of accuracy I dated this letter correctly, even though it may feel like you have received two letters from me in the same day._

_Your gown must be quite a sight. I already received Madame Rotacao's bill. Tell me, my dear, was it absolutely necessary to attempt depletion of the entire Malfoy treasury? Oh, well. I don't doubt Madame's taste, and I'm certain you'll look absolutely radiant, even if something a little less extravagant would have done the same job._

_I spoke the truth in the shop. This situation is not a game, although I have treated it as such. You are a child, and I your benefactor, and despite complications incited on both sides, we remain that way. You must do what you have been sent to do, and I must keep my wits about me. _

_Keep me informed on any changes or problems that may occur. Given our current situation I think it best we avoid each other at the ball. _

_Cordially,_

_Lucius Malfoy_

Iphany flipped the letter over – no PS. Her heart sank and her face sagged visibly – she had been hoping for an apology of some sort, a reference to his conduct, perhaps. But no, this letter was all business, as its predecessors should have been. She understood his logic; her mind knew why their innocent literary flirtation could not go on. What happened in the shop was a direct result of pent up sexual desire. He had been forcibly telling her no, and at the same time his hand had been sneaking higher and his lips nearing hers. His violence was not only necessary, it was _vital. _Otherwise they'd have probably ended up rutting against the wall like animals.

And Iphany didn't want that. She considered herself a highly sophisticated creature, one born of a thousand years of pureblooded breeding. The fact that half of her 'pure blood' was pure faery didn't mean anything – in fact, it was a mark of honor that made her superior even to families like the Malfoys or the Lestranges. She did not want to be guilty of base carnality. It was beneath her.

_But that's not it, _her heart whispered desperately as she threw her blanket over her body and settled down to sleep. _It's more than that. You l-_

"Shut up." Iphany said vehemently.

"What?" Came Bekah's voice.

"Not you. Goodnight."

"Okay...'night."

. . .

Around this time, Lucius was settling in to the library with a very stiff drink and a renewed ache of lust in his belly. It had now become very clear to him that he could not spend time alone with Iphany. The moment their eyes had met in the shop, the world had blurred around the edges and he could not think for the smell of her, the sight of her small rosebud mouth. It had felt so terribly satisfying to hurl her into the wall – he thought of her pale limbs tangling and her strangled cry of pain as she crumbled to the ground.

Most unnerving, however, had been the fight against the sudden urge to run back in and sweep her up and carry her out of the shop and...and...

"Lucius."

He snapped to attention, sloshing brandy all over his hand. "Yes, My Lord?" He turned to the fire, faced the Dark Lord's serpentine physiognomy. Lord Voldemort had a particularly satisfied grin on his face, a look that screamed of freshly spilled blood.

"I see you've taken care of Narcissa." Lucius said dryly, shifting to set his drink on the mantleplace.

"Oh, yes. You never told me she was a screamer, Lucius."

"She never was." Lucius responded, thinking that whatever Voldemort had put her through must have been akin to skipping through the ninth layer of Hell. Narcissa had never made a sound at pain, not when she was branded with the Dark Mark, not when Lucius swept an open hand across her cheek, not the first time they'd had sex. He shuddered to think what devious atrocities Voldemort had dreamed up for his traitorous wife.

"She told me something very interesting, though, before I killed her." Voldemort said, and Lucius felt an instant coil of fear wind tight inside him.

"Oh?" He asked, keeping a neutral face. To prove his innocence he reached for his drink with a steady hand and mouthed a sip. "What did she tell you?"

"At first I assumed she was lying, since it's obvious she's had it out for my future consort from the beginning. But I checked into it this afternoon – Manglis' records, if you can believe it – anyway, it appears that Sirens cannot bear male children. Which does not sever her initial purpose, but it does make her useless to me in the long run. I'll not be populating the earth with a bunch of stupid half-human women with my power and the blood of Sirens – One or two of them are all it would take to make a real mess out of things." Voldemort said, heaving a sigh that was a comical mockery of disappointment.

"So what do you plan to do with her?" Lucius asked. He did not like where this was going at all. Voldemort smiled.

"Well, I assume that once she's brought us our young Mister Potter, I'll have my fun with her for a while. See if Sirens are more resilient than humans to certain forms of...recreation. Then I'll kill her. I thought of marrying her off – I even thought of giving her to you, Lucius, since you have been so loyal. But in the end I realized that there is always the possibility of deception, like with your darling wi--, well, _ex _wife. And she could populate the world with half-Siren witches that would no doubt carry a grudge against us for the way I plan to treat her. In the end, it will be more efficient. If you like, though, I'll let you have a go with her before I dispose of her. Granted, she probably won't be much fun, but I hear tell that just a touch of their fingers can-"

"I think that's an excellent idea, my Lord." Lucius said. He did not want to hear any more. His fingernails dug ruthlessly into his palm, and he could already feel the half-crescent gouges going slick with blood.

"Ah, I knew you'd agree. It is a pity, but I've found that nothing in life comes without its pitfalls. At any rate, we should be having...a gathering soon. Not until after that silly Hogwarts ball, mind you, but very soon after. How is she going with our little Gryffindor, by the way?"

"She says things are progressing as they should. I warned her not to sleep with him, but from the way she speaks of him I don't think it will be much of an issue. The boy is disgustingly noble." Lucius said. He was fighting to keep the rage out of his voice, and was ultimately grateful that they were speaking through the secretly arranged branch of the Floo network instead of in person. It would have been difficult, not to mention stupidly dangerous, for the Dark Lord to chance being somewhere as blatantly obvious as Malfoy Manor. 

"Good. Well, I'll leave you to your brandy, then. Shame about Narcissa – you understand, though." 

Pop. He was gone, and the instant he disappeared Lucius let out a roar and hurled his brandy at the wall. Next was the entire bottle of liquor, thrown past the fire to shatter impressively against a bookshelf.

Voldemort was going to kill her. He was going to rape her and torture her as his sick fetishes desired, break her into a hollow ugly shell of her former radiance. And then he was going to kill her. Lucius felt his throat tighten and his entire body constrict with agony, his heart thudded frantically against his ribs -- the heart with the song of a Siren firmly wrapped around it.

What disturbed him most was this reaction, this out-of-control monster of rage that ripped around inside him and made his entire body ache with the strain of it. He did not know why he cared so much – she was just a stupid little girl, and from the way Voldemort said it he would have his chance with her after all. But to see her after that, to see in her eyes what he had seen in the eyes of all those half-bloods and Mudbloods – that broken, empty thing that glared as brightly as any star – he could not _bear _the thought. 

And this was coming from a man who had done his share of torture and rape, though in his later years he had found such things to be beneath his ripening sensibilities. He never felt remorse, not even now, when he thought of the terror and pain scrawled across those countless faces. But those were worthless Mudbloods, half-bloods, creatures too filthy and unclean to walk this earth and call themselves witches. 

Lucius finally managed to calm himself, forcing his illogical brain to accept the truth. It would be suicide to suggest a different route – Voldemort would smell this…_weak_ sentiment on him like a dog. He reminded himself that she really was nothing to him, nothing but a vector to carry out their plans. What Voldemort did with her was his own business. 

And yet that night he dreamt a thousand dreams of her broken body lying still in his arms, and in the dreams he crushed her to his chest and whispered something – something like –

_I'm sorry..._


	30. Masquerade

Song of the Siren : Masquerade

A/N: And at thirty chapters, we finally get our s – OH. Don't want to spoil the surprise. Poem in this chapter is by John W. Cooper. This story is now officially AU when considering the events in Order of the Phoenix. ::scowl::

//Masquerade//

In the three weeks prior to the Masquerade Ball (which was now all any Hogwarts student above their third year could talk about), Professor Flitwick devoted half an hour of his class each day to helping the students perfect their Changing Charms. Some were more successful than others, and it should not go without saying that more than one student was seen hiding horrible green hair beneath a cloak-hood. At any rate, sooner or later all of the students had managed to master the charm, or at least had a friend who could do it for them.

Iphany and Harry were rarely seen without the other's company. This proved to be an increasing bother to Ron and Hermione – more so to Hermione, because that tickling, nagging sensation of suspicion had not faded with time. She and Iphany were cordial to each other, sometimes even friendly. But Hermione did not like the way Harry mooned over the girl like she was some kind of Goddess. If Iphany was not around, he was different – odd, _changed, _as though some part of him could not shine as brightly when she was not near him. He even began to fall behind in Quidditch – Hermione knew for a fact that the rest of the team was seriously considering asking Iphany not to come to the games anymore. In the Gryffindor/Hufflepuff match, Harry had nearly missed the Snitch because he was so busy waving at Iphany in the stands.

For some reason, it did not seem to Hermione that this was an ordinary relationship. It was almost...unnatural, the level of affection the two showed for each other after just eight weeks. And then there was the touching. She thought she might have been imagining it at first, but as observed them, her reservations mounted. Every time Iphany touched Harry – be it a rogue brushing of fingers to his arm, a hug, a kiss to the cheek – the young wizard almost cringed, though it was more an expression of intense pleasure than pain. It was this that reminded Hermione of something she'd read – something that poked insidiously at the back of her mind, a fleeting memory too intangible to be placed.

She stuffed the thought out of mind, at least for the time being. For as prosy and intellectually minded as Hermione Granger had a tendency to be, she was still a teenaged girl, and the excitement of the Masquerade ball overshadowed all other concerns.

. . .

Iphany bathed early on the night of the ball. The quarter moon was barely breathing shades of silver above trees now stripped of any leaves, casting broken shadow across the lake's gently rippling surface. Madame Hooch was on Siren-duty tonight, and she was not exactly thrilled. 

"If you could hurry, Novara, I've got to change for the ball, too." The golden-eyed woman called after half an hour of half-watching the girl loll around in the water. How she could stand the cold was beyond the Quidditch instructor, who was shivering beneath her heavy robes fifteen minutes into the ordeal. 

Iphany didn't answer, but her song faded and she trudged reluctantly up to shore. A thrill of anticipation struck her at the word _ball_. Her costume had arrived that morning, wrapped in gold paper and carrying with it the heady aromatic scent that had so permeated Madame Rotacao's shop. She hadn't had time to open it yet, and it still waited patiently on her bed.

The Gryffindor common room was oddly empty, though Iphany knew it was only because everyone was holed up in respective rooms getting ready. Professor McGonagall met her at the door, though it wasn't until Iphany heard her speak that she was able to identify the older woman. She wore a brilliant blue set of dress robes, uncomplicated but so starkly different from her normal attire that it was a violent shock. Her severe bun had been respectfully lowered; coiffed hair charmed a flat, shining silver. A carved black mask, studded with silver jewels, adorned the top half of her face.

"Wow, Professor. That's quite a costume." Iphany said, nodding as she passed the head of Gryffindor house. 

"Thank you, Miss Novara. When you are finished dressing, you are to gather in the common room. I've told the rest of the students, but you were outside swimming – we're going to administer a very mild memory charm on all of you, to help preserve everyone's costumed anonymity." The woman was smiling, like Madame Hooch had been when she deposited Iphany at the mouth of the Gryffindor tower. Apparently the students weren't the only ones anticipating the ball.

Iphany thanked Professor McGonagall and trotted up the stairs, breathing excitement with every step. She flung the door open to her room and was greeted with the site of Bekah twirling in her gown.

"What do you think?" She asked, grinning wildly as she approached Iphany. Her costume was of a peacock theme, an emerald-colored shift lined down the sides with real feathers. She had yet to put on the feather-formed mask when Iphany walked in, and had just finished charming her now-pale blonde hair into sleek, tumbling waves. Iphany offered her an appreciative smile as she moved to the bed, parting the curtains and drawing out her package from Madame Rotacao.

"Lovely, darling. Did you charm your eyes, too?" She asked, tugging the silver ribbon off the package. The wide leaves of parchment she unwound to reveal the dress, the wings, a small jar of shimmering gold dust, and the mask, which was wrapped in a separate roll of paper.

"Mmhmm. Look." Bekah leaned in and opened her violet eyes wide. Iphany nodded and tapped her pleasantly on the cheek. She held out the jar of gold powder for Bekah's inspection. 

"I'm not sure if this will go with your costume, but you're welcome to u –"

"Iphany." Bekah breathed, her attention diverting to the folded collection of sun-colored, gem-adorned fabric peeking up from the opened package. "Is that your _dress?"_ she asked, reaching a tentative finger out to stroke the silk-soft cloth. Iphany beamed a secret smile and turned, lifting the expensive frock from the paper. It was even lovelier than she had remembered, nearly reminiscent of something an Egyptian priestess would adorn in performing sacred rites of sun worship. She stepped over to the mirror and held the gown up to her body, again appreciating the detail of inlaid jewels and the sleek strips of fabric hanging from the bodice. Upon closer inspection she saw that Madame Rotacao had added another detail to seal perfection – a handful of tiny golden bells, each no bigger than the tip of a pinky, were interspersed throughout the flowing colors of the skirt. 

"Yes," Iphany answered, her voice a near whisper. Her mind courted and invited the memory of what had transpired just after the fitting, and she felt her cheeks flush with unbidden color.

"That must have cost a fortune. Are those _real?"_ Bekah asked, on the subject of the diamond and topaz winking from every turned faced of the dress.

"I don't know." Iphany lied, laying the dress carefully over the back of a chair and moving to step out of her robes. Bekah was busy perusing the other items included in Iphany's package. She lifted up the wings and sighed.

"It must be nice to have a Godfather like Lucius Malfoy." She said lightly, although Iphany was quite sure she heard the barest hint of something like suspicion in her voice. She was inclined to be more observant that Iphany thought, and had noticed the labeling on the package. Her father didn't even buy her mother gifts from Madame Rotacao, even though Bekah was fairly certain they could afford it. There was something almost _naughty_ about wearing a dress from the gifted witch's shop.

"I suppose, in times like this." Iphany answered cautiously. "Will you lace my bodice?"

" 'Course." Bekah replied, setting the wings aside and moving to assist her roommate. The dress did marvelous things for Iphany's figure, accentuating the lean line of her waist and even managing to make it look as though she were somewhat well endowed. Bekah rested her hands on Iphany's shoulders when she was finished, caught in awe at the full sight of the ensemble.

"You look like...I don't know. Like some kind of Goddess." Bekah whispered. Iphany shook her head and smiled. 

"Thank you." She replied, not noticing that the expression on Bekah's face was something vaguely likened to the admiration and awe wrought on the features of every boy the Siren ever passed. Bekah was silent as Iphany turned in the mirror, observing the costume from every angle. The little bells were a clever addition, for with every movement now she not only sparkled, but made music as well.

Before donning the wings and mask, Iphany decided to get her hair out of the way. She dragged a chair in front of the mirror and retrieved her wand while her roommate unscrewed the jar of gold dust and tried to decide where the fine shimmering particles would best suit her.

The most difficult part of the Changing Charm for Iphany was getting the undertone of blue out of her hair. Once the black was lifted and the reddish-gold tint began to ripen, a different incantation was needed to keep her hair from going a muddy shade of greenish-brown. She succeeded after four or five tries, finally satisfied with a rich burnished bronze color. Her hair had finally grown to a length that was conducive to an updo, so she swept the mass of it into a sleek twist atop her head, securing it in place with an easy charm learned from one of the vainer of her female housemates. 

Her eyes were easier, all she had to do was coax the green out, and a pale, ice-memory of sky blue remained. Once all of this was completed, she stepped back and appraised herself.

The tilted almondine shape of her eyes, the elegant arch of her now-copper brows, the red bow of her lips – all of these were the same, and yet somehow drastically altered by the new color of her hair and the lighter shade of her eyes. It was a disconcerting thing to say the least, for the golden woman staring back from the mirror was not Iphany Novara. She didn't speak as she attached the wings with a charm, nor as she laced up a pair of ribbon-tie sandals hidden at the bottom of the package. The mask was the last thing she put on, but not before liberally dusting her eyelids and cheekbones with the glittery powder.

The mask was a simple affair in comparison to the rest of the ensemble. It stretched just across her eyes and halfway down the bridge of her nose, colored with the same fabric as her bodice and lined in ruby stones. The edges swept away from her face and angled demurely upward, mimicking the flame-shape of the jewels adorning her bodice. Last, but not least – somehow Madame Rotacao had known, and Iphany wasn't sure how, but she was rather grateful for the foresight – a pair of gold silk elbow-length gloves.

Bekah was thoroughly overwhelmed by her roommate's finished appearance. Iphany had not spoken a word since her softly uttered thank you, but a kind of secret smile rested a kiss on the sirenchild's mouth, tempting her face into that celestial glow that made men weak at the knees. She seemed almost withdrawn as she followed Bekah down the stairs into the common room, where upon their approach the entire room fell silent.

Fifty or so faces were briefly awash with a king of nostalgic melancholy. Even Professor McGonagall was not immune, and the entire affair threw Iphany into a mild panic that made her want to turn heel and run back up to her room and rip the dress into a thousand tiny pieces. The tiny tinkling of the bells on her dress was the only sound until Harry broke the silence.

"Hey, Iphany!" He said enthusiastically, and then the room was filled with chattering again, albeit that of a slightly nervous sort.

"Hi, Harry." She replied, canting her face to accept his kiss to her cheek. He looked appropriately handsome in black and emerald robes and a black velvet mask. His bottle-green eyes were now an irisless black, and his messy auburn charmed hair was neatly combed. It wasn't the most aesthetic of combinations, but Iphany thought him gallant for trying. He laced his fingers through Iphany's own, rubbing his thumb gently over her gloved palm. She tolerated the touch, but broke away presently when McGonagall moved to the front of the room and called for quiet.

"Your attention, please. I want all of you to be perfectly quiet while I administer the charm, which will have no lasting effects and will fall at midnight." While Professor McGonagall was retrieving her wand, Iphany fought back a grin. If everyone was charmed, that meant no-one would know who she was. And she could find him and –

"Obliviate!" Professor McGonagall said. Iphany's mind went blissfully blank for a fraction of a second. She looked down at herself, confused. And then up at the people surrounding her, faces she didn't quite recognize, voices that sounded only as familiar as something she'd heard in a dream. There was a boy to her left wearing something she identified as a dragon-costume, and another to her right in robes of green and black. She knew her own name – Iphany – and knew why everyone was dressed up, but could not quite name any of the other people standing around her. The boy with auburn hair looked at her, his mouth slightly agape. She turned away from him, slightly repulsed, though she wasn't sure why.

It appeared that everyone else was under the same illusion, and there were a lot of low-whispered, uncomfortable conversations as McGonagall gathered them all together and herded them towards the door.

"One more thing," She said, stopping them before they climbed through the portrait hole. "If you do happen to recognize someone, it would be best that you do not mention their name. Speaking a person's name will break the Changing Charms."

And then the body of them surged down the stairs. Gryffindor house was the last to arrive in a Great Hall that seemed utterly transformed. Candles hovered in mid-air, the tables had been cleared away, and draperies in the four Hogwarts colors hung suspended from nothing across the ceiling. At the mouth of the hall there hovered a huge glittering banner proclaiming the words : _Congratulations, Hogwarts – 1000 Years and Counting!_

 Iphany broke away from the reckless tide of students, thankful that for at least one evening, no one knew who she was. This sentiment was short lived, however, for even though not a soul could quite remember why, it was the general consensus that the most beautiful woman at the ball was the one who personified the sun. 

And not only the students noticed this – for the hundred or so (male) Hogwarts alumni that were also in attendance were continually distracted by the warm shadow moving through the crowd. She appeared to be searching for something.

A Senior Ministry official (sporting gaudy velvet red robes and a matching mask) seized Iphany for her first dance after she'd roved the crowd for less than five minutes. He slipped his large, fleshy hand around her waist and captured her as she was attempting to squeeze through the endless turning couples and half-grinned glances. He tried to talk to her but found her an unwilling partner for this, although her dancing was admirable. There seemed to be a berth of respect circling the young woman, a kind of complacent sense of wonder that spurred onlookers to speak in quiet whispers as opposed to the regular, jovial party tones.

Half the evening passed in this way. Every time a song ended and Iphany extracted herself from one man's arms, she found herself captured by another and pulled back out on the dance floor. As the night wore on her tranquil expression melted to one of anguish. Her searching eyes averted to the spinning floor, her feet seemed to drag and she leaned more heavily against each of her successive partners. They did not seem to mind.

She was finally able to break away when she nearly dissolved into tears after her twentieth partner let her go. Brushing aside offered arms, shrugging past hands that tried to take hold of her wrists, she made her way to an empty table and sat down, her head supported by her hands. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs and the wings attached to her back quivered with each drawn breath. She felt a shadow fall over her and saw a pair of black boots approaching.

"I d-don't want t-t-t-o dance." She hiccupped, lifting a hand to wave the suitor away. She heard him laugh, a baritone peal that struck a resonant chord. Slowly, as if disbelieving, she lifted her eyes, blurry and wet with tears.

"Lor-"

"Don't", he warned, crouching before her and taking her face in his hands. She nodded and sat back, looking at his costume. His normally ash-pale hair was a deep, ebon black, tied back in a queue with a single strip of glittering fabric. He wore long, sleeveless robes of spun silver and a mask of the same shade – underneath, breeches of deep striped black and blue velvet, and a blue shirt that flowed and ebbed like watered silk. Her amulet gleamed from his pale exposed chest, a testament to his theme. She smiled and said –

"You're the moon."

"And you're the sun," He replied, lifting a finger to wipe away the smudges of tear-streaked gold from her cheeks. "Don't cry, for goodness sake." He rose to take the seat next to her, and she turned to face him.

"I've been looking for you." She said quietly, staring down at her hands. Her gold silk cloves were streaked with the moisture of her tears.

"I know. I knew you would, even with my repeated suggestions to the contrary."

Iphany lifted a bronze brow at this, shifting in her seat beneath the low heat of his gaze. "That's rather hypocritical of you, since you're the one who approached me." Beneath the gold mask, her lucid blue eyes lifted and sought the teeming crowd of dancers. A thready grin tricked her lips into the curved bow of a smile. "Does anyone know who you are?" She asked lightly, turning attention to her sleek, gold hugged fingers. A casual glance at Lord Malfoy found him regarding her cautiously.  
  
"No. But I don't-"  
  
"Dance with me." She said softly, plucking first the right glove, then the left from her hands. He shook his head.  
  
"We can't." He said simply, rising from the table. "I came over here to - well, to see if it was indeed you, which was foolish anyway. I had no doubt. Enjoy your ev-"  
  
"'Scuse me," came a sudden nervous voice from behind Lucius. Iphany glanced up to see a tall young wizard in yellow robes and shifty eyes staring fixedly at her. "May I. C-c-can I? Dance with you?" He stuttered. Iphany was about to utter a very emphatic _no_ when she felt Lord Malfoy's hand slip around her upper arm and lift her to standing.  
  
"You most certainly may not. She is mine.' He said, almost fiercely, and Iphany's chest was host to a fleeting surge of triumph. She shot the wizard a disparaging glance as Lucius led her out to the dance floor and gathered her in his arms.  
  
"I thought we weren't-"  
  
"Just once." He said, resting his hand on the curve of her hip and taking her now gloveless hand in his own. Iphany smiled. He shook his head mutely as the first swell of music swept them into a graceful, effortless waltz.  
  
Onlookers, especially those who had partnered the sun-girl previously, were adamantly envious of the sudden change in her demeanor. There was something of remote tragedy in the sight of the man dressed in moon-colors as he drew her perceptibly closer, for the look of helpless ardor on his face was almost pitiable. Almost, and would have been if the girl wore the same expression she had with all her other partners. But the lazy smile coloring her features was genuine, such that it struck a note of discordant, bittersweet joy in the hearts of all who looked on her.  
  
"When am I to meet...the new object of my affection?" Iphany asked after a time, her voice slightly strained with the effort of dancing. Something dark passed over Lucius' eyes.  
  
"I believe plans are set for just after Christmas. I will know details later this week." He responded tersely. They danced in silence for another moment before Iphany continued.  
  
"I don't suppose I shall ever see you again." She said quietly. "Men who marry Sirens have a tendency to hide them from the rest of the world." She thought of her father, a brief contemplation that was better left alone on such a night.  
  
"Yes, I don't suppose you shall." Lucius replied, his voice tight. She glanced up at him.  
  
"What's the matter?" She asked. The song wound to a close, and despite his previous declaration that this would be their only dance, she found that he was drawing her closer, so close that she could recline her head on his shoulder and move quietly to the slower rhythm of the ballad. His grip on her hand was nearly painful.  
  
_I shall see you again_, He wanted to say,_ but you will no longer be yourself, and you will hate me and I will have the pleasure to taking a body that will be riddled with after-curse effects and battered beyond recognition._  
  
He wanted to say this, but instead he turned his head. His breath stirred her bound hair as he replied, "Nothing. I will release you after this dance and take my leave. We court danger even with something this simple."  
  
"I don't care." Iphany sighed, and she felt the tightness take hold of her chest at the thought of his absence.  
  
Lucius closed his eyes - engraved like stone were the dream-memories of her pale limbs wrenched and covered in bruises, a thin trickle of blood issuing from her lips. Lord Voldemort's easy grin : _I'll let you have a go with her, since you've been so loyal. Though I doubt she'll be much fun._  
  
"If we... " Iphany began, her lips uncomfortably close to his neck. "I wouldn't tell."  
  
Lucius' entire body went hot at the simple, unassuming statement. He was suddenly acutely away of her heartbeat and the thought that it would still in a matter of months. He saw her dead and wasted in his mind, and then he felt her warm and breathing beneath his hands. A small, pathetic string of resolve snapped somewhere deep inside.  
  
Iphany was more than surprised when she felt him loosen his hold on her waist. She was about to point out that the song wasn't over yet, and that he owed her its conclusion at the very least. This protest went forever unsaid, for instead of releasing her he was leading her through the crowd and out into the empty hall.  
  
"Where are we going?" She asked softly, wondering at the violent wing-beating thud of her heart. Her cheeks flared with pink when he pulled her roughly to him and spoke his next senseless words against her lips.  
  
"I want you like this," he said, not giving her time to ask like what before kissing her with a thoroughness that made the muscle and sinew in her legs feel like curious jelly. She kissed him back, tentatively at first, a halting exploration of mouth and tongue that was _graceful_ and _exquisite_, nothing like the sloppy business with Harry.   
  
_A soft wet flesh-remembered kiss lies s a l t e d in my mouth_  
  
He broke away after a frantic moment and gathered her beneath his arm, a swift clip bringing them around corridors and up a flight of stairs that led to his guest quarters in the north wing of the castle. There were stallings, to be sure, as every few steps found him unable to continue of without the fuel of another kiss. Iphany was more than happy to comply. Somewhere during the journey she lost her mask, but found that she did not care one bit.  
  
He brought her into the room and closed the door. She barely had time to look around, to see the elegant mahogany bed and dresser and heavy velvet drapes when in one movement he swept her up, bearing her against the door with a thud that would have been painful were it not softened by the pressure of his mouth on her neck. She wrapped her legs around his waist and he groaned.  
  
"God, Iphany." He said, planting fervent kisses on her throat. She giggled, felt the tickling at her scalp and knew her glamour had faded. She pulled back far enough to look at him very seriously.  
  
"No fair." She teased softly, and then said, "Lucius." His hair faded back to blonde and very gently she tucked her warm fingers under his mask and pulled it from his face. They regarded each other for several long moments. It was without words that something passed between them, a mutual doom that neither had time to care about.  
  
He lowered her wordlessly and turned her, plucking the wings from her back and moving to untie her corseted top. She shivered wantonly at the first contact of his fingers against her skin, deftly tucking beneath each lace and pulling it free. Lips at her neck, teeth grazing and marking - halfway down and he was beginning to get impatient. She gasped when he tugged too hard at a string and the thin thing snapped beneath the pressure.  
  
"Don't-"  
  
"I paid for it." He said dourly. She grinned, and then started when she felt his hands grappling for either side of the parted fabric - then - rip! The expensive fabric slipped of her shoulders. He was frozen for a short time, presented with the impenetrably erotic sight of her pale, bare back. She glanced at him over one shoulder, suddenly self-conscious. The blush that crept into her cheeks was punctuated when she drew an arm across her bare breasts.  
  
Lucius took her by the shoulder, affording her her modesty for a moment as he brought her to the bed and lay her down. Her breath was shallow, rapid, and she uttered a sound of protest when he took her protecting arm in one hand and her free one in the other and pulled them both over her head. He withdrew his wand and muttered a charm and she was frozen in place.  
  
"What are you doing?" She asked, a touch of alarm in her voice. He did not answer at first, as it took a moment to regain composure after being exposed to his first real view of her half-nudity.  
  
"You have no idea how long I have waited for this." He said, and she was about to respond cattily that she did indeed know, but instead went silent as his fingertips touched gently upon her breast.  
  
Her lips fell open in an unhinged 'oh' of surprise when he replaced the light bristling warmth of his fingers with his mouth. She arched beneath him, her spine a curve to bring flesh more willingly against his tongue. Everything was spinning, dipping dangerously into madness when he trailed a moist path down the slim line of her belly and his hands crept up her thighs, parting the silk strips of fabric.  
  
"Lucius." She gasped as his hands moved ever upward - _teasing touching feather-light_, her body cringed for more and she   
  
_our teeth clattered, tongues together sought to fill_  
  
Another kiss, this one urgent, the moon-shaped amulet slipped from beneath his shirt and thudded coldly against her chest. She flexed her hands and said  
  
"I want to touch you. Please."  
  
_Skin spilled cravings of starvings long declared_  
  
He contemplated this, and then with a quick touch to her wrists, she was free. A pause as she wound her fingers through the chain and jerked once. The necklace slithered off his neck and suddenly he shuddered violently, because as soon as she threw the bauble to the side she lifted her hand and gently touched his cheek. Lucius' world stopped turning.  
  
"Stop." He said breathlessly, his eyes screwed shut in blissful agony. "I can't, I'm going to-"  
  
"No you're not." She said, both hands on his neck. Some part of her found control for the touch, remembered from practicing with Harry. Lucius uttered a breathy moan.  
  
Every single part of his body, every cell trembled under the heat of her small hands. What was the memory of lightning was now a full strike, igniting him to a level of unfulfilled arousal he had never known before.  
  
_As listened, watched, but never dared_  
  
His shirt next, carelessly torn in the hasty effort to remove it. All over his chest - her fingers, his mouth on her mouth, his fingertips tracing the insides of her thighs.  
  
_This heat, this grip - your breath - are all a-dream_  
  
Now she wore nothing, and he was half-way there, she helped him out of his pants and her eyes went wide and he was  
  
_with lying, drowning chastity and understanding truth_  
  
He was urging her legs to part, she was shivering as she clutched his shoulders-   
  
"Wait." Came her urgent protest, quelled by one errant stroke of his mouth on hers. Lucius was shocked at his own gentleness.  
  
- a slow, stretching, painful ache. She let out a broken cry and he silenced her with a kiss and pressed on slowly until they were complete - whole - joined -  
  
_so smooth, this hungry tension cannot last_  
  
Shifting and movement, legs entwined, her fingernails gouging harshly into his skin as she turned her face to the side and her eyes closed and she was whispering his name. His mouth sought hers and they kissed in rhythm.  
  
_but how your soft wet swimming kiss would still lie in my mouth!_  
  
"Yes." She said into his skin, rocking her hips to meet his. Faster now, more and more and suddenly  
  
_long after limbs and lungs had fought to fill your sudden naked depths_  
  
Suddenly she saw stars, dripping into her vision as her body tensed and he said something above her and held her tightly with the passion of his own release. Long, heavy moments found him withdrawing and turning to his side. Iphany's body was of limp limbs and liquid, pliant to his will. She was tucked into the curve of his body, staring in mutely dazed wonder with her fixed glare on a small gold tassel hanging from the bedpost.  
  
_where swims desire I once declared_  
  
"I had no idea..." Was her first unsteady intonation. He laughed gently behind her, still caught in the cloying heat, the aftermath of lovemaking. No reply came, but she felt his hand settle gently on her hip and his thumb trace slow circles around the jutting bone. The idea that Lucius Malfoy would do something so gauche as post-coital cuddling suddenly struck Iphany as being quite funny.  
  
"What?" He asked, feeling her tremble with quick laughter. She shook her head, lowering her hand to cover his. Fingers laced together; she was taken aback to find that his were faintly trembling.  
  
"Did...was I all right?" Shyly, she was glad he could not see her face from this position. A noise like scoffing sounded behind her, and she froze.  
  
"Iphany, darling..." He began, and he felt her scoot warmly closer at the endearment. "I cannot put it into words. You were more than all right."  
  
"I didn't know it would...hurt at first." She said softly. His hand broke from hers and he drew her hair from her neck and dropped a lazy kiss at the nape.  
  
"Yes, I suppose I should have warned you of that. Understand my distraction, though."   
  
She giggled and shivered in the same breath, surprised that her body had the energy to respond to such a touch. "Now what?" she asked quietly. He sighed and dropped his hand to cup her hip again.  
  
"I don't know." He replied. All was silent and still, and his breath came more steadily, evenly. Iphany knew he'd fallen asleep. She basked alone in the closeness, for she knew it would not last. This moment would probably be the memory that sustained her for the rest of her life - a time before true realization, before the scope of their actions could be completely understood. She was fairly certain he would wake in the morning and be horrified that he had let himself lose control. Oh, but she was so glad for it right now, and would have died a thousands deaths just to know this feeling of true sated peace and comfort in his arms.  
  
_as listened, watched, but never dared._  
  
. . .  
  
She awoke some time after midnight to see the blue moonlight creeping in through the curtains. Careful not to disturb Lucius, she disentangled herself from his arms and planted her feet on the cold stone floor. Parted curtains revealed the half moon grinning regally from over the trees, loving silver rays bathing her naked shoulders. A silly grin granted joy to her face, tilted to the heavens, and her palms found the cool glass.  
  
"Iphany?" came Lord Malfoy's voice from behind her. She turned to see him half propped on one elbow, watching her with renewed interest. For an instant, he forgot that she was real, so luminous and celestial was the vision of her naked body silhouetted by the rising moon.  
  
She crossed the distant between them in four steps, slipping beneath the sheets and settling herself astride his lap.  
  
"This time," She said wickedly as she shifted her hips against his arousal, "We go slow."


	31. Waking

Song of the Siren : Waking

A/N: Oh my GOD, is this a NEW CHAPTER?

::peers at the title:: IT IS! WOAH! Seven months. I know. I'm sorry. I got busy. But  here it is!

// Waking //

Though Iphany had spent the previous sixteen years of her life waking up alone, this morning she did not expect it. Having lazed drowsily in Lord Malfoy's arms for the better part of the night, she had finally drifted off to sleep for the hour or two that her body required. He had been on his back, and she'd rested her head on his shoulder with one arm thrown across his chest. Even in her dreamless sleep, she could feel the rhythm of his heart against her palm.

Now she turned over in the bed, blindly stretching her arms to feel for him. Her hands felt cool sheets and pillows, but nothing warm and human. She opened her eyes and sat up, instinctively clutching the sheets to her chest. Lucius was sitting in the large armchair to the right of the bed. The sun had not yet fully risen, and a weak gray light seeping from the faintly lit clouds stained the hardwood floor with a pale, misshapen rectangle of dull silver. He sat half-submerged in the poor illumination, though Iphany could see that he was fully clothed. He did not glance her way when she rustled the bedclothes and crept forward to better see him, the sheets still held to her chest.

"'Morning." she said softly. She saw his shoulders rise and fall with a deeply drawn breath.

"Pull on the robe hanging from the door and drink that bit of blue potion from the vial on the bed table. It will make you invisible so you can get back to your room without any trouble." He said flatly, his eyes trained forward, looking steadily at something Iphany could not see. She smiled nervously and worried her bottom lip. He must be joking, she thought lightly. A tug untucked the sheet from its last clung corner. She drew it around her body and stepped off the bed and approached him slowly, a sultry little smile playing with her lips. She sank to her knees next to him. One small hand lifted to rest on his thigh. He stiffened.

"Oh, come on now, Lucius. It's still early, at least an hour before real dawn. We could-"

Iron fingers encircled her wrist, a sharp thrust shoving her hand away from his leg. "You will address me as Lord Malfoy, and you'll get out of here if you have any sense." He said sharply. Iphany blanched as she palmed her bruised wrist.

"Stop it." She said warningly, lifting her hand to touch him again. "Stop playing around."

This time, he grabbed her arm and wrenched her forcefully to the side. In a collection of limbs and white bedding, she tumbled to her hip. 

"I don't play around, Miss Novara. Get out of my room." He stood as he said this, standing over her like a golden deity of judgment. 

"Why are you doing this?" She asked in a voice that was rapidly becoming choked with emotion. Gathering herself and the coverings about her, she glanced swiftly up at him from her position on the floor. He was looking over her, or perhaps only at the top of her head.

"I don't have to explain myself to you. GET OUT." His voice rose at this, and Iphany's resolve broke.

"Lucius, please don't do this." she begged, rising up on her knees and grabbing for his hand. He _snarled,_ and the next thing she knew she was tasting blood from the impact of his hand smashing against her cheek. A throaty, pitiful sob escaped her mouth.

"Do not touch me." He said evenly. Iphany continued to cry, her face buried in her hands and her small shoulders trembling.

"Please..." she sobbed, casting forward and reaching for his robes. "Please don't, Lucius, I can't stand it, don't do this to me --"

"GET OUT!" He roared, heedless of who would hear. He grabbed her shoulders and shook her violently and still she cried, but he would not look at her, could not -- and then he did, and his heart shuddered – she would not stop crying, so he dragged her up by the elbows and crushed her in his arms. "Is this what you want?!" He asked, seethed, and suddenly he kissed her. Iphany softened -- and then let out a muffled cry of pain as she felt his teeth pierce her bottom lip. The copper salt of blood filled her mouth and she wailed and sank like a doll to her knees -- he was upon her, pinning her bodily to the ground -- "Shut up." He said desperately. She hiccuped another garbled 'please' and did not noticed when he reached for his wand with one hand and clapped his other over her mouth. "Stop it, God _damn_ you. S-- CRUCIO."

She went rigid beneath him and screamed into his hand. He shut his eyes and ground her body into the floor, and through the pain of it all she would surely recognize the length of his erection pressing against her thigh.

Iphany came to in a haze of red, aware of too many sharp feelings and aches and emotions at once. Her body creaked as she stood, every muscle hot and charred, shaky legs barely able to support her weight. Something numb cloaked her mind, something that kept her from remembering why she hurt from hair to toe. In a harsh, mechanical series of movements, she had pulled on the black robe handing from the hook. It was too long, and it smelled like patchouli --

"No." she said out loud, not sure to whom, or why. The vial on the bed table was drained in one gulp. The Siren shuddered colorlessly as she felt her body tingle and watched her hands fade from view. There was a lovely gold dress lying near the door. Don't, said her mind loudly_, screeching_. 

The trip back to the Gryffindor tower was halting and skipped in and out of memory. The invisibility potion started to fade as she was walking up the girl's tower-stairs, and she was completely visible by the time she opened the door to her room. Bekah was awake, looking tired and haggard as she sat in the chair. She sprung to her feet immediately when Iphany walked in.

"Merlin, where have you been? McGonagall was after me asking about you when we were coming up the stairs -- I told her you were already in bed, I figured you were out with Har-- My God, Iphany! What is the matter with you?" By this statement, the red-haired girl had reached her roommate, seeing that a dried smear of blood colored her chin, her eyes were blank and hollow, and her entire body was trembling.

"I-" Iphany began, and then it all rushed back to greet her, his cold, emotionless eyes -- _get out of my room -- _he bit her -- cursed -- "I s-s-slept..." She choked back a wail and then sank to her knees. Bekah knelt beside her, clearly alarmed.

"Slept? You slept where?" Asked Bekah soothingly, draping an arm over her shoulder. Iphany shuddered at the touch and then broke away, stumbling for the bed. It was then that Bekah noticed her attire -- a black man's robe, obviously a very fine one at that. 

"No." Iphany said, and in that moment she did not care, she only wanted someone to tell, to share this terrible injustice with. A wide, watery gaze met Bekah's own confused one. Iphany gulped. "I...slept with Lord Malfoy." She finished in a rush, burying her face in her hands and sobbing openly. Bekah's mouth dropped to the floor.

"You slept...you _slept_ with him? You mean he raped you?!"

"No!" Iphany was quick to correct her, and in her sad, warped little mind, felt the need to protect his innocence, at least in that area. "I wanted to. But...this morning -- he -- _why did he do it? _Last night he was -- he was -- he --" she broke down again, and Bekah, still shocked at the revelation, found the whim to join Iphany on the bed. 

"He what?" she asked softly. Iphany lifted her tearstreaked face, still perfectly lovely even when soaked in anguish.

"He told me to get out." She said quietly, her eyes dulling at the memory. "I thought he was joking. He said it again -- I touched him, something, I don't really remember -- he hit me once. I couldn't stop crying, I didn't know -- I _couldn'_t --" she sucked in a sharp breath and let it out shakily, somewhat more composed, though her foam-green eyes still brimmed with unshed tears. "He dragged me up and held me and asked if this was what I wanted, and then he kissed me and for a moment I thought it was just a game, because -- he's not -- and then he bit me. He bit through my lip."

"My God, Iphany --"

"He kept telling me to shut up and then he started shaking me and I till didn't stop so he pushed me down and held me and put his hand over my mouth -- and then he...he cast the Cruciatus curse on me. I don't...I don't remember anything after that."

All the color had drained from Bekah's face. She was staring at Iphany in dumb shock.

"You -- you have to tell someone. He'll go to Azkaban, they'll-''

"I don't want him to go to Azkaban.'' Iphany said vehemently. 

" Iphany--You have got to be kidding."

"No. I'm not. I don't want him to go to Azkaban. I just want..."

"You need to lie down." Bekah said firmly, taking her by the shoulders and lowering her to the bed. Iphany was too betrayed, too weak to protest. Bekah went rummaging through Iphany's dresser and produced a long white nightgown. Iphany shrugged shamelessly out of Lord Malfoy's robe – but she refused to relinquish it, even when the well-meaning roommate tried to pry it from her hands. She twisted it and clutched it to her chest, turning her face obediently upward when a cool cloth descended to wipe the blood from her chin.

"Why don't you try to sleep?" Bekah said softly, sitting next to her on the bed. Iphany's eyes were already closed, but she let out a stubborn grunt all the same.

"Sirens don't sleep much." She said drowsily. Bekah cocked her head and her brows furrowed.

"What did you say?" She asked. Iphany sighed, her exhalation laced with the soft tremor of after-sobbing.

"Nothin'. Please don't tell anybody. Promise, Bekah." She said, urgency and strength coming back with her conviction. She started to sit up, but Bekah placed a hand on her shoulder and pushed her gently back.

"Shh. I won't tell, I promise. But you have to get some sleep. I'll tell Harry you got into the wine at the ball, and that you're sleeping it off."

"Kay." Said Iphany. She settled back down into the pillows, yawning and drawing the robe up closer to her cheek. Bekah's face, unseen, darkened perceptibly. She leaned and kissed Iphany quickly on the forehead.

Iphany, her body wound in black silk, was asleep before Bekah drew the curtains shut.

. . .

It wasn't supposed to be nighttime. This much she knew, although there seemed nothing out of place about the soft white sand beneath her toes and the sound of the ocean ringing in her ears. Iphany turned – she was standing on a beach, shoreline stretching so far in either direction that she could not see where it ended.

"Hello?" She said into the wind. It caught her voice and drew the words from her mouth. 

"Iphany." Came a chorus of voices. She whipped around to face the three Sirens, standing waist deep in the water. The waves seemed to break around them, and their calm, serene, fey-beauty faces were incongruously bright against the velvet black night.

"You're—"

"We're your sisters, Iphany." Said the one in the middle, who was perhaps the most beautiful, if such a thing can be said for three images of perfection. She was the oldest, Renali. Iphany nodded; this information did not seem odd or inapt.

"Yes." She replied, wading into the water so she faced them. "My mother was one of you."

"_You_ are one of us, Iphany. You have forgotten." Spoke the Siren on Renali's left.

"I have not. I'm half-Siren. But I'm also half-Human." Iphany said quickly.

"You're all Siren, Iphany. Though Human blood runs in your veins, the Siren blood – Faery blood – is stronger and more powerful. You have fought it, and it has made you hard to contact." Renali said. Iphany glanced at each of them in turn.

"Where am-"

"That doesn't matter. We have been trying for months to reach you, and now that we have I don't know how long you'll be here." Renali stared hard at Iphany, who suddenly felt as though the older Siren was reading her mind. This, as it turned out, was not a jump to conclusions.

"Lume, Iphany. You've...she's slept with him." She said, turning to her sisters. They both seemed to sag with some invisible weight.

"Yes. I have." Iphany said defiantly. "And so what? I am my own person. I'm tired of doing what other people want me to do. I-"

"It is for your own good, Iphany. Your mother told you to stay away from him for a reason. Your destiny blurs if you choose to continue this. We cannot predict-"

"So what?!" Iphany shrieked, and the Sirens started back at her outburst. "Most people can't predict anything about their lives! Why should I be any different?"

"You are special, Iphany. You have a task. A purpose." Said Otilde, speaking up from her half-hidden stance behind Renali.

"Yes. To bring the most powerful human to you, so you can exact your revenge. That was hundreds of years ago, and you three could have been busy making all kinds of new Siren babies. Why me?" Iphany wailed, covering her face with her hands. A silence breathed.

"You...you're earth-bound." whispered Alba. "It has to be you."

"Yes." Iphany sobbed, glancing up at them with red rimmed eyes. She hadn't known it was possible to feel such pain in a dream. "It has to be me, just like it had to be my mother. She did what you asked of her, and she died – and my father is _crazy_, and all you can do is hide in your stupid ocean and invade my dreams and tell me who I can and can't love!"

"So..." Otilde said quite suddenly, stepping out from behind the other two. "It's true. You do love him."

Iphany nodded miserably. "I do. And I don't know why."

"Neither do we." Said Otilde, and to her sisters' surprise, she stepped forward and took Iphany's face in her hands. "But you are right. It's not fair, what we ask of you, when we aren't even sure what the outcome will be. You have been robbed of true happiness your whole life, and now that you've felt it, it must be taken away."

"He – he hurt me terribly this morning. I – do you know why he did it?" 

Otilde smiled softly. Renali and Alba were conversing wildly behind her. They were supposed to weave the spell, the one strong enough to stop Iphany's emotions again. But they needed Otilde, without her there would not be enough power and Iphany would realize what was happening and resist the enchantment.

"I think," Said Otilde, resting her hands gently on Iphany's shoulders, "He is afraid. The man – the great Lord – the one you are promised to – he will kill both of you if he finds out what you have done."

"I know." Said Iphany, studying the Siren's face. "But he was so different last night. He touched me like...I've never felt that way before."

"Nor will you again, unless you fight for it." She whispered, so low that the other two could not hear. "He is angry with you because he is a cold man, and despite all he has learned in his life about hatred and indifference, he cannot help what he feels for you. He is afraid for his life, yes, but he is more afraid of the way his heart stops every time he looks at you. He won't be able to live without you after this, Iphany." Renali and Alba were edging closer, suspiciously silent. Otilde's voice dropped to an urgent whisper. "He will probably hurt you again, but not in the way he did this morning. He will crave your body, your touch – but sooner or later he will realize – and that is why you must –"

"What are you telling her, Otilde?" Asked Renali, seizing her youngest sister by the shoulder and whirling her around. Iphany was shaking, she felt a tugging, nagging sensation at her shoulder blades, as though she was being dragged backwards. 

"You must be strong, Iphany. Fight for it. Don't worry about us – keep what you have done a secret from the Dark One, and –"

"Iphany, stop!" shrieked Renali. "The prophecy, our revenge –"

But Iphany was fading fast, slowly waking up and trembling as she muttered under her breath. "I will. I will. I will fight."

She sat up straight, her fingers tangling with slippery tears that burned a now-familiar path down her face. The room was as empty and silent as a tomb, and a daylight-brightness like noon edged beneath the curtains. Bekah was at lunch, along with the rest of the Gryffindors. She had confided to McGonagall that Iphany had been given wine by one of the adults at the party, and after several glasses had subsequently become sick and stumbled back up to the dormitory. McGonagall bought this story with surprising ease, most likely due to the fact that Susan Bones of Hufflepuff had fallen victim to the same malady.

It felt stifling and hot inside, even though the wind outside rode on the promise of an early snow. Iphany threw the covers back and parted her bed-curtains, standing with a rickety groan that made her feel like she was a century old. She made to move towards the bathroom, certain that a long, hot shower would ease the ache in her muscles and wash the gritty film of treachery from her skin. Just as she was pulling the door closed, she heard Bekah trotting into the bedroom.

"Iphany?" she called, scrubbing one hand nervously through her bleached-cardinal hair. Iphany wrenched the faucet open and called over the running water,

"In the bath, Bekah. I'll be out in a bit."

Sufficiently assured that Iphany wasn't on the verge of suicide, Bekah decided that her room mate's tone had improved since that morning. Listening to the hollow splash of the bathwater made her feel decidedly calmer, and she drew in a careful, steadying breath. Looking down, she remembered the plate of food carried up from lunch. 

"I brought you something to eat, Iffie," she said absently, moving aside Iphany's robe to place the wrapped plate on her trunk.

"Thanks," came Iphany's noncommittal reply.

But Bekah wasn't listening. Not one to snoop, she couldn't help but catch a glimpse of parchment sticking out from the corner of Iphany's trunk. Squinting her pale eyes and turning her head _this _way, she could make out the words –

_still smell you all over _

Bekah smothered the wayward stab of guilt that tickled her ribs as she worked the paper out of the narrow crack in the trunk's lid. _I'm just checking_, she said to herself, all the while keeping one ear cocked in case Iphany got out of the tub.

Color rose in her cheeks as she scanned the letter once, twice, then a third time for good measure. A rising feeling of dread took hold of the young Gryffindor's chest, restricting her breathing as her mind caught choice phrases.

_Write me twice weekly concerning your progress_

_What progress? _Bekah thought weakly. Perhaps…schoolwork…

_be as vague as you can_

_Why be vague about schoolwork,_ said the insistent voice in her head.

In a frenzied moment of half-decision, Bekah shot for Iphany's top dresser drawer and scrambled around for the key to her trunk. Nerves hewn of fire, Bekah's trembling hands fought with the lock. She finally slid the brass bar out of its socket and threw the top of the trunk open. Rustling frantically through the tangle of parchment, she finally came across four or five opened envelopes, all gleaming the broken Malfoy seal.

The blood-rush of rose that had claimed Bekah's pale complexion drained like gutter run-off as she read each of the letters in succession. It became glaringly apparent that Iphany's professed hatred for her Godfather was merely a front for some subvert sexual game they played – and not only that, but there was something sinister threading through the Malfoy patriarch's words – something, they were planning something…

And then Iphany slipped out of the bathroom, plumes of mist curling in her wake. She stopped cold upon seeing her roommate crouched next to her desecrated trunk, Lord Malfoy's letters strewn about like paper fodder.

"Bekah…what are you doing?" Iphany asked quietly, struck dangerous with sudden fear – so much could be read in to the letters, so much subtext – if the girl turned them in to Dumbledore–

"You're…you were with him all along. You never hated him," said Bekah, clutching one of the green-kissed leaves of parchment in her hand. There was a glint of blue fire in Iphany's eyes, a threat Bekah had never seen before. She was suddenly and completely terrified.

"Bekah, give me that letter," said Iphany. She advanced on her trembling friend.

"No! Not until you tell me what's going on!" Bekah cried, waving the letter wildly.

"Be-ckah," Iphany repeated, taking a step closer. Bekah shrank back. "Give. Me. The. Letter."

"I'm going to Dumbledore" she whispered faintly, tears gathering in her eyes. "He's got you under a spell, I know it, he's controlling you-"

"Shut up, Bekah," said Iphany. "Give me the letter."

"No!"

In that moment, Iphany had a mind to do several things. First was to snatch the letter out of the girl's hand – but what would that do? There was too much controversy surrounding the Siren already, and if Bekah went to Dumbledore, they would surely bring Lucius in – they would be questioned. 

The rest of her thoughts never materialized, for Bekah at once darted to the side as if she meant to run for the door with her evidence. Iphany did not think, and before she had time to, her hand was in her hand, and she was shouting something

**Avada Kedavra**

Stunned, silent and still dripping, Iphany let her wand clatter to the floor. It rolled across the rug and settled under the bed.

"Bekah?" she whispered.

No response.

"Bekah? Oh my _God…"_


	32. Frantically

Song of the Siren :  Frantically

A/N: Oh my GOD, is this **ANOTHER NEW CHAPTER?! **Huge, gigantic, endless props to Kim for this new and exciting PLOT TWIST!

// Frantically //

Iphany did not move for a circle of the clock's smallest hand. She hovered in the hysterical place between panic and terror, her mouth unhinged, her hands trembling. _I killed her,_ she thought, the idea abstracted in sudden fragments. A thrust of dread saw tears collecting in her eyes – not of remorse or guilt were they, but hot and sharp with the shape of her realization. All thoughts of Lord Malfoy's treatment had long since departed.

Numbly, Iphany approached the girl's body on tiptoes. _You won't wake her up, _came an errant thought of near-wry humor. She bent down and extracted the letter from Bekah's hand, recoiling in disgust at the already-cool touch of dead flesh. Blood throbbed in Iphany's ears.

A sudden tapping at the window tore a grating scream from Iphany's throat. She whirled to see Diablo perched outside, beak drumming a frantic staccato on the glass. _Write him! _Said an unfamiliar voice in her mind.

"Oh God," Iphany groaned again, sweeping across the room to let Diablo in. He sailed in on night dark wings, slitted yellow eyes wide and dilated into uncharacteristically large pools of black. Some sense of calm settled in to Iphany's bones at the sight of her familiar. _Move the body, _she thought, and went about the gruesome task of dragging the inert corpse and laying her in the bed. Iphany drew the canopy shut, shuddering at the sight of Bekah's wide open mouth and glassed blue eyes.

Tears she did not register burned salty-hot and unwelcome as she rummaged for a blank piece of parchment in her desk drawer. Her normally fluid handwriting came out in streaks, harshly tearing across the paper. Several times the quill rent the surface, and ink bled black onto the desk. Iphany had barely signed her name when Diablo ducked over her shoulder and grasped the letter in his taloned claws.

"Wait, I need an envelo-"

"Whrroo!" Screeched the owl, as much of an admonishment as anything Iphany had ever heard. Chastened, she stepped back and let the ebony bird take wing.

"Hurry, Diablo. Please, ohplease," she sobbed, running for the window and braving the blast of winter wind that seared her face. Diablo sailed like black lightning, out of sight before she could blink.

. . .

When the need is dire, owls of Wizards have a certain magic that allows them to slip the bonds of space and time. 

It was for this very reason that Diablo's claws scratched against the windows of Lord Malfoy's library only a quarter of an hour later. Lucius, in his wild-animal pacing, did not hear the sound at first. He moved like a madman, one hand around a long-empty brandy glass, the other covering his nose and mouth. 

When he'd left her, it had taken every ounce of strength he had not to scoop her broken body off the floor and sob wordless entreaties into her hair. That memory would haunt him til he drew his last breath; the sight of the Sirenchild half naked and moaning incoherently at his expense.

And now he breathed her in, inhaling the scent that hugged his palm, the smell of her warmth and her skin. It made him far drunker than the brandy in his hand.

_I've lost,_ he thought stupidly, and then her heard her voice in his head _thistimewegoslow_

---interrupted only by a something that sounded like fist-sized rocks hitting his window. And then a horrendous crash as whatever it was came hurtling through the glass.

Lucius picked the bloodied owl up off the floor, recognizing it immediately as being hers. His stomach turned to stone; a pitiful letter, a sobbing plea she must have written, beseeching his forgiveness. The owl hooted weakly, and it was with absent care that Lucius withdrew his wand and uttered a swift healing charm. Now mended, Diablo lit on the silver-haired wizard's shoulder and tug his claws into flesh.

"I'm reading it, you ungrateful fool," Lucius snapped, brushing the creature off with curled fingers. The letter, unbound by packaging, nearly burned his fingers as he smoothed it out against his desk.

I've done something terrible I killed her I killed my roommate she's dead she found our letters

I don't know what I am going to do she's dead Oh Merlin please help me Lucius please I won't ever touch you again just get me out of this they'll put me in Azkaban 

_Iphany_

 The owl was back, worrying at Lucius' hair, dipping scratches across his scalp and shoulders.

"Stop it!" Lucius screamed, frozen. Just as panic threatened to overtake him, a curious calm settled over his mind.

Came unbidden thoughts, unbidden shifts of hand and body as he removed the charm from his neck

Came a whispered spell

Came a scribbled letter, as messy as its preclusion

Came shuddering hands as he slipped the charm into an envelope

Came a rush for the window as he watched the owl disappear into the trees.

…

Iphany had already chewed her tongue to a mangled mess by the time Diablo appeared at her window again. He carried two parcels; one small and oddly shaped, the other a rolled and tied letter. She opened the letter first, kneeling by the window, her hands refusing to cooperate. It took her three tries before she managed to unwind the ribbon around the parchment.

Do not touch the necklace yet. Go to the girl, place a hand on her, and then take the charm from the envelope.

Touch her. Iphany's shoulders prickled at the idea. But she was too terrified to disobey, so she ran a swiftly appreciative hand down Diablo's wind-ruffled back and took the smaller envelope from him. She managed to avoid looking at Bekah, seeing instead by touch. Her hand rested tentatively on the back of Bekah's head.

The envelope she tore open with her teeth. Out slipped her moon amulet; chain repaired from when she'd ripped it off his neck the night before. That memory was best left in darkness, so she pushed the stab of feeling back into an unfeeling place in her mind. Then she bent and touched her fingers to the dully-shining trinket. A jerk shocked her navel; it was as though a hook had caught her by the belly. _Portkey, _said her belated brain. The world aswirl spun in dizzying madness, coming to a screaming halt in a place she recognized by smell before her eyes adjusted. 

Lucius was but a meter before her, expectantly shocked. He shook his head and looked grimly to the body. Without thought, Iphany dissolved into shrieking sobs and hurled herself into his arms.

"I'm sorry!" she wailed, screaming into the cultured velvet of his vest. "I don't know what happened, I cursed her, Avada _what am I going to do-"_

"Iphany!" Lucius barked, jerking her back to hold her at arm's length. "Calm. Down. It's going to be all right," he said evenly. Iphany was a sight; her face blotched and red from crying, her hair dried in tangles from worrying it with her hands. She was beautiful.

"I'm sorry," she whimpered. "She found our letters. She was going to show Dumbledore. I wasn't thinking."

"You damn well weren't," Said Lucius, releasing her as soon as she proved her ability to behave like a human being. Having relinquished the amulet for the purpose of turning it into a Portkey, he was keenly and painfully aware of every place where her body touched his own. It was vaguely akin to being spun in circles after a good kick to the stomach. He battled with a very inopportune bout of arousal and was only just shy of acting on it when the Siren turned away, her cheeks flushed an impressive pink. To fill the slithering silence, he knelt down to examine the body. Perhaps she wasn't…

"She's not stunned," Iphany said. "She's dead. I used an Unforgivable."

"Nonsense," Lucius replied. "Children your age can't."

"I can," said Iphany. Her voice did not tremble with the weight of fear anymore. She fixed him with an unwavering stare. "Besides," she added thickly, feeling the tension across the heat of their shared gaze, "I'm certainly not a child anymore."

The moment was swift, painful, and glorious. Lucius averted his eyes.

"What you did was stupid," he began, straightening up and dusting his hands of death. "But not hopeless." He pulled away from the shivering warmth of her presence, leaving a wide berth as he made his way to the hearth. She watched him with her telescopic eyes, exquisite face beyond interpretation; but beneath her stalwart façade throbbed an ache that was only made more painful by his obvious avoidance. He would not address what had happened last night, or this morning for that matter. That much she knew.

"Lucius…"She began.

"No," he said swiftly. "No."

A thin line remembered Iphany's lips. She pressed the mere idea of tears into a small place somewhere between her eyes. Her head ached and her throat burned with the effort of repression.

"All right," she finally responded, having drawn a breath that caught and stuttered more than once. "What do you propose for me to do?" 

Obviously glad for the change of subject, Lord Malfoy turned to the mantle and retrieved the bottle of brandy from above the smoldering fire. It had since been repaired after its unfortunate encounter with the book shelf. Pouring a generous amount into his own glass, he recalled Iphany's last bout with alcohol and splashed a very small amount into her own cup. He presented it to her without ceremony, making certain to avoid eye contact. An accidental brush of her fingers against his own brought an indeterminable sound from the back of his throat.

"I've contacted someone who is somewhat obliged to come to my aid," he said swiftly, jerking his hand back and setting his jaw in an indelible line. Iphany saw this, noticed his tension, and remembered briefly the words of the Sirens in her dreams. _He will crave your body, your touch…_

"Well?" She prompted, mouthing a sip of her drink. The bitter-hot taste spread welcome warmth through her chest.

"Arden Lestrange," he replied, courting danger as he read her face for signs of recognition. Iphany felt a sharp pang of jealousy stab her most rudely in the ribs. She remembered the name, all right, as well as catching her Polyjuice likeness in Lord Malfoy's arms on that night that seemed a thousand years ago. Still, she only nodded in response.

"She should be arriving here any moment," said Lucius, "And I intend-"

Just then, the hearth flames flared green, and Arden stepped through. Iphany took stock of the older girl as she muttered over her dusty robes for a moment. _She is a woman,_ thought Iphany faintly,_ and I am only a girl._

"Now what, Lucius?" Arden snapped, stepping away from the hearth. "Just because I f-" Arden paused as her eyes settled on Iphany. And the dead girl. She flicked her gaze back to Lucius. "What's this?" 

"Iphany killed her room mate," said Lucius flatly, maintaining a distance between himseelf and his former lover. Somehow, after being with Iphany, the thought that he had ever touched another woman seemed wholly repulsive. "I need you to-"

"I know what you're going to say, and my answer is hell _fucking _no." Arden snapped her eyes at Iphany. "What'd you do, strangle her?"

"Avada," said Iphany, finding some measure of satisfaction in the word. 

"Bullshit," Arden scoffed. "You're a kid."

"I'll show you, if you like," said Iphany sweetly. 

"Enough," Lucius interjected, "That's not the point. Arden, you have to. I still have some Polyjuice, and I will cut off all the girl's har for you to-"

"Fuck you," Arden spat. "I already drank enough of that vile swill so you could have your little pedophile fantasy about screwing a teenager. I'm not posing as a Hogwarts student."

"Let me put it this way," said Lucius. "How would you feel if I found out that you were the one who poisoned Iphany this summer?"

Arden fixed him with a loathsome stare and smirked. "You can't prove it," she sniffed. "Besides, you know it was Narcissa. You already-"

"But how would our Lord feel if he knew you acted with her?" 

Iphany saw where this was going, and on good conscience, decided not to interfere.

"You can't blackmail me for something I didn't do, Malfoy," Said Arden.

"Perhaps not," Lucius conceeded, "But I can certainly make sure that you are never more than a peon in Lord Voldemort's eyes."

Arden was seething. She glared viscously at the cause of all this; the little temptress in the corner drinking Lucius Malfoy's brandy. Iphany matched her gaze, lifting a dark brow; a question or a challenge.

"I could just as easily tell him what you had me do," she finally replied, although it was obvious she was beaten. "And I'm willing to bet you aren't going to tell him this, either."

"Whether or not I do is none of your concern," said Lucius. "You will do it."

A long silence punctuated his imperative command. Arden seemed torn between incredulity and rage. 

"Fine," she growled, crossing her hands over her chest. "But I better be a fucking Queen when this is over with."

. . .

Iphany Novara and Bekah Oberstien came to dinner that night with little to say to each other. Harry greeted Iphany with an enthusiastic kiss, which she returned with only the slightest hesitation. Only Hermione saw the quick flare of something like disdain on the girl's impeccable features. 

"We were worried about you when you didn't come to lunch," said Harry, lifting his empty spoon to his mouth. Iphany gestured to the bare utensil and Harry blushed.

"He was worried, all right," said Ron. "Slid down the girl's stairs more than once trying to get up there."

"Sorry I worried you," said the Siren, gulping down a mouthful of juice. "I've never been so sick in my life," she confessed meekly. "I could barely get out of the bed."

Arden snorted into her goblet.

"You alright?" said Ron.

"Fine," said Arden sharply. Under the table, Iphany found the imposter's foot and stomped it. "I'm fine, Ron. Thanks," she added quickly, a measure of politeness in place.

"Anyway, I suppose I won't be drinking for a while," Iphany said, covering the odd moment. "I should know better than to trust old men."

"Did you find out who it was?" Hermione asked, carefully studying Iphany's face. Bemused, the dark haired girl sighed and shrugged.

"Everyone was in costume. By the time Midnight hit, I was already passed out." Iphany found Harry's hand and gave it an affectionate squeeze. He tried very hard not to turn purple. "I went straight up to the dorm."

"Did you?" said Hermione blandly.

"Of course. I could hardly walk straight. It's a miracle I made it up there at all," Iphany replied. Harry let out a peal of laughter. Ron threw him a disparaging glance.

"That's odd, then," said Hermione. She went back to her chicken. Iphany's senses bristled immediately; there was something  unpleasant about the other girl's tone. Arden looked on in silent amusement.

"What's odd?" said Iphany testingly. She speared a piece of broccoli and popped it into her mouth.

"Oh, nothing really. It's just that…well…" Hermione abandoned her dinner and bent down to dig something out of her bag. "I found this in the North wing on my way to the library this morning." She placed Iphany's golden mask on the table.

"Oh," said Iphany. A lump of fear settled in her throat. "Well, who knows. I can't remember much about last night. Maybe I decided to look up something on curing hangovers." 

Harry laughed uneasily, a question lingering on his brow.

"Besides, how'd you know it was mine? We all got Obliviated before the ball." Iphany was quick to turn the tables. She could feel both Arden and Harry's eyes on her.

"Oncee midnight hit, our memory came back," said Hermione. She slid the mask across the table. Iphany took it hesitantly and stuffed it down into her lap.

"Oh, well," said the Siren lightly, leaning her head on Harry's shoulder. His doubt melted instantly."I must've taken a bad turn. Thanks for returning it."

"No problem," said Hermione. She smiled swiftly and went back to her meal.

At ten of the hour, Arden excused herself from the table with a line about unfinished potions homework. Iphany knew better. The Polyjuice potion was about to wear off. She was glad to see Arden go, for it was odd and unsettling to see Bekah's eyes staring back at her.

. . .

Tonight the swimming ritual was perfunctory; even though the cloud hidden moon still hummed in Iphany's blood, she could not tear her mind away from the events that had transpired in the last twenty four hours. Her guardian tonight was Professor Sprout, who seemed content to huddle down in her fur-lined robes and listen to the Siren's song floating up from the lake. This Iphany quiet preferred; Professor McGonagall always stood perfectly still and watched her from the shore, her mouth thinned out in silent contemplation. It made her uneasy; it was as though the older woman had something stirring in her mind that hadn't quite the time to surface yet. 

As Iphany climbed out of the lake, a shivering breeze ripped across the sky. A sudden flurry of snow fell; white and soft against her face.

"Oh, look," said Sprout, grinning up at the clouds. "Early snow. It's lovely, isn't it?"

"It is," Iphany replied, holding still as the woman swept her wand out and performed a quick drying charm. Everyone seemed convinced that Iphany would catch cold swimming in this weather, no matter how many times she insisted that the temperature did not affect her in the slightest. As they crossed the grounds to the castle, the snow began to fly more readily, and by the time Iphany reached the Gryffindor portrait she could see thick gusts of white swirling outside the windows. Had she been in a better state of mind, she might have been inclined to enjoy this new thing; for although winters were harsh on Shallycob, it never snowed.

As she ducked through the entry, the usual swift hush of gathered voices did not greet her. The common room was as empty as it had been on the night of the ball; but that was to be expected. Here it was, a Saturday night, and not a soul in view. Iphany found this very odd, and was even more startled to see Professor McGonagall step out of the shadows.

"Professor," she gasped, holding her hand to her heart. "I did not see you there."

"Sit down, Iphany," said McGonagall. Her tone was taut and sharp; a severe line creased her brow. Iphany's stomach dropped. She lowered herself carefully into the nearest chair, nerves on edge at the seriousness in her teacher's voice. 

_Oh Merlin,_ she thought suddenly,_ she knows. She knows she knows she knows._

"We received a letter from the Ministry of Magic today," said McGonagall, reaching inside her robes to withdraw the object of conversation. 

They know I did Avada they know 

"This won't be easy for you to hear," McGonagall was saying. Iphany, through her veil of panic, noted something like sympathy in the woman's voice. _That _she did not expect.

"What is it?" Iphany asked cautiously.

"Iphany…" McGonagall paused. "Your father has somehow regained a measure of sanity since his incarceration. He has demanded a fair trial."

Silence. Iphany, through her rushing haze, could not manage to understand what McGonagall was driving at.

"The Ministry has requested that you testify against your father in court."

Outside, the white world stopped to listen.


	33. Summoning

Song of the Siren: Summoning

A/N: We're in the home stretch, guys. Six chapters to go. Care to guess how it's going to end? Want to give me some suggestions? Sirenchild@aol.com.

// Summoning //

"Are you certain you don't want me to come with you?"

Iphany bit neatly through her tongue.

"Harry, I told you. I have to do this by myself." She lay a gentle hand on Harry's cheek. He colored briefly and then drew a steadying breath. 

"I just…I hate the thought of you going up there alone. Aren't you going to be terrified?" The Boy Who Lived worried his thumbnail and tried to control his wildly beating heart. He could not fathom being away from Iphany for a weekend, let alone for the seven days that she proposed. Outside, the early snow had fizzled out to flurries, spinning now and again in mad circles as the wind pursued. The common room buzzed with lazy conversation, randomly interrupted by gazes tossed in the duo's direction. Iphany had thought it best to break the news of her imminent dissapearance to the messy-haired boy before he found out through hearsay. The last thing she needed was for him to develop a silly ruffled bout of hurt feelings, thus weakening her hold on his will. 

"…Staying with Mister Malfoy…" Harry pressed, interrupting the Siren's musings. Iphany could not seem to hang on to any conversation or thought for more than a moment; needless to say, this half-hour dialogue threatened to push her to the thin blue realm of madness. She had not the whit to pretend right now, not when the last thirty six hours had been an experiment in incredulity.

"I'll be fine," she said, a sharpness whetting the edge of her statement. Harry started as though he'd been slapped. "Oh, look," she said swiftly, "I don't mean to be so harsh. I'm just on needles, you know. I can handle Lord Malfoy. I'll just stay out of his way." Which was, in fact, exactly what she intended not to do. 

"…All right," said Harry. He leaned in and brushed a halting kiss on Iphany's mouth. "When do you leave?" He asked, his breath momentarily lodged somewhere between tongue and throat. 

"About an hour. There's a carriage to take me to Hogsmeade, and then I'll Floo over to the Manor from the train station." Iphany rose as she imparted this, stretching against the tension-tight muscles that corded in her neck and back. Following suit, her devoted leech cast his eyes about the room to discourage all those nosy onlookers. No doubt that Iphany's secret would be the topic du jour at dinner that evening.

"I'll see you down here before you leave?"

"Of course," Iphany called as she made her way up to the dormitory. She passed a group of third years thundering down the stairs; one look at her and they dissolved into gaspy whispers, pressing flat against the wall to allow her to pass. If this affected the stone-faced beauty in the slightest, it did not chisel any recognition on her features. She made it up to her room without further incident and pushed open the door.

Arden sat on the bed, charming her nails. Iphany supressed the involuntary shudder that threatened each time she saw 'Bekah', alive and moving, and yet somehow painted inside a darker shade of greed and lust.

"Did he take it well?" Arden asked, holding out her glaring green nails to inspect them. Iphany pulled a sour face.

"Well enough," she replied, dropping down to the floor to fish her suitcase out from under the bed. "I don't really care."

"You should," said Arden. She screwed one eye shut and tapped her thumb with her wand. "There, perfect."

Lost as she presently was in her miasma of self-involvement, Iphany did not register the first part of Arden's response until after she'd begun folding robes to place in her trunk. Arden had long since moved on when the Siren finally shook her head and said,

"Wait, what? Why should I care?"

"Damn, Novara, you need to pick it up a bit," Arden sneered, perching on the end of the bed. "You should care because without you here to distract him, Harry might start listening to what that Granger girl says about you."

"I seriously doubt that," said the Siren, grabbing a handful of hair ribbons from the top drawer of her bureau. "There's nothing she could say that would turn him from me."

Arden didn't reply. She hopped off the bed and moved to the battered green trunk, and after a few minutes of rustling through the contents, she produced the cloudy jar of Polyjuice Potion. 

"Yeah, what are you planning on doing with that?" Asked Iphany, dropping the lid on her suitcase and snapping the lock. Arden smiled smugly and withdrew her wand. 

"Transfiguration," she said. "I'm going to turn it into ink so I can suck a little off my quill if the potion starts to wear off in class."

Iphany, mildly impressed, nodded in assent. The conversation lapsed into silence, punctuated only by Arden's quick incantation and a bright flare of magic. Iphany was just stacking her luggage on the top of her bed when Arden finished pouring the transfigured potion into an empty ink pot.

"Is there anything else you want to ask me before I leave?" Iphany asked absently, running over the contents of her suitcases in her mind to see if she had forgotten anything. Arden popped the lid on her ink and shook her head.

"I'm sure I can handle myself. And if something goes wrong, I have the Portkey." Arden fixed Iphany with a Bekah-blue stare. "Say hello to Lucius for me," she said sweetly.

Iphany set her jaw, a quick thrill of fear passing through her spine at Arden's expression. Did she…

A knock knived through the tension. It took a moment for Iphany to register the alien sound; it took Arden gesturing sharply at the door several times before the Sirenchild found her legs. Professor McGonagall stood in the doorway, her narrow wrinkled mouth marginally smaller than usual.

"The carriage is outside," said McGonagall. She peered farther into the room and nodded at Arden, who was presently sucking innocently on the end of her quill. The Bekah-clone waved enthusiastically at the older woman. "Hello, Miss Oberstien," said McGonagall. Iphany popped presently into view, surreptitiously blocking Arden.

"I'm ready," she announced swiftly. McGonagall nodded and swept into the room. She unsheathed her wand and tapped Iphany's suitcases; they vanished in a swirl of silver smoke.

Iphany offered Arden a swift nod and made to follow McGonagall out into the hall. "I'll see you," said Iphany. She closed her fingers around the door and was about to slide out into the corridor when a whine-soaked voice interrupted her escape.

"Wait, Iffie, give me a hug before you go."

Supressing the hot red rush of indignation and rage that bloomed in her stomach, Iphany shot a glance at McGonagall, who nodded softly. Iphany approached Arden and wrapped one arm around the girl's shoulders in the half-hearted semblance of a friendly embrace. Arden seized Iphany by the shoulders and drew her closer so that her mouth breathed hot against the Siren's ear.

"Good luck," she said, and then with unmistakeable irony, "Knock 'em dead."

"Funny," Iphany hissed, drawing back and fixing Arden with a vapid glare. McGonagall watched them with veiled scrutiny, wondering briefly at the nature of their relationship. The Siren straightened and smoothed her glossy black hair, offering the head of Gryffindor a tenative smile.

"Yes," said McGonagall, siphoning her eyes from the sweetly smiling Bekah to the Siren hovering at the door. "Along with you, Miss Novara."

With a final warning-fraught glance at Arden, Iphany followed McGonagall down the stairs.

. . .

_I didn't expect him to cry, _Iphany thought blandly on the subject of Harry's goodbye as she tucked herself into the plush window seat. With a shudder and a clatter of wheels, the carriage lurched forward, drawn by one of the terrifying black creatures that McGonagall identified as a thestral. There had been a moment, a cut of suspicion in the woman's voice when Iphany balked at the sight of the winged horse-like beast. 

But that was neither here nor there. Iphany had more important things to consider. What if, in the spirit of restoring the Death Eater's strength, Lucius advised her to speak highly of her father? What if she was forced to deny that he had tried to rape her, what if they expected her to laud his goodness?

She would comply. Without question, without a moment's hesitation. If the directive came from Lucius, Iphany knew she would never refuse, even if the lie choked her of breath and tasted like bile in her mouth. _What has become of me?_ Iphany wondered, watching the snowslick moors swallow the ancient gray spires of Hogwarts.  _He hurt me so terribly. He took what he wanted from me and then he cursed me and now he refuses…_

A throbbing emptiness claimed her chest, a thing both tender and sharp, like a ball of down studded with razors. Tears seared Iphany's eyes as she screwed them shut, trying in vain to shove the wretched feeling of betrayal back to darkness. It would not do to be so vulnerable…she had a job to do, a job, and she was Lord Voldemort's bride…

"Why?!" she screamed suddenly, striking the side of the carriage so hard that the window rattled in the pane. The word fell on no ears but her own, and it rang swift and hot. Why, indeed.

_Because, _whispered a voice in the shadows of her mind, _it is your destiny.  _For whatever reason, this thought was somehow placating. She took a deep and trembling breath, banishing the fear that hovered on fluttery black wings. She found herself wishing again that her mother's spell had not broken all those months ago. How much simpler everything would be if she could call back that vanilla sentiment that blunted the edges of every feeling.

But no, no. Because for all the horror and sadness she'd known in the past half year, the one night spent in Lucius Malfoy's arms was enough to make every bit of pain worth the trouble. _And so this is living,_ Iphany thought profoundly, raising her fingertips to graze the wind-cold glass. _My lot. I must take it and make of it what I will. _And then again unbidden came to mind the thought of Lord Malfoy, whom she would see in a matter of hours. There'd been no time for an exchange of letters to discuss the impending fiasco, only hearsay from McGonagall that he was expecting her arrival. The trial itself would not take place until the following Friday, but the succesive week would be filled with the legality of paperwork and meeting with Ministry officials. A cold, unnatural thrill skated the chords of Iphany's resolve at the thought of seeing her father again. The vision of his mad-lust rage pounded nails into her brain; it was the only image of him that she could conjure.

A rogue gust of wind buffeted the carriage and Iphany shivered, even though the air inside was enchanted with warmth. From out of the hills rose Hogsmeade, looking all the more a fairy-tale village now that it was drenched in a layer of white. Had it been an hour already? The carriage was to drop her off at the train depot, where she would be allowed to use the fireplace inside to Floo over to Malfoy Manor. 

The wheels rolled slow and grinding as the carriage came to a halt outside the train station. A portly fellow trussed in orange and gold (_How tacky, _Iphany thought) bustled out as soon as they stopped. He opened the carriage door, took one look at the Siren inside, and turned a shade of red that clashed thoroughly with his garish uniform.

"Er, Miss Novara?" He sputtered, suddenly acutely aware of the heaviness of the wedding ring he wore. 

"Yes," Iphany responded crisply, ignoring his gloved hand and stepping down onto the platform of her own volition. "My luggage is in the back. You can send it along after me."

"Yes, miss," he replied, trying to decide if he'd ever seen eyes that looked more like the ocean at sunrise. 

Iphany lifted her skirts to avoid the mud-tinged crust of snow that frosted the platform. Without waiting for instruction, she showed herself inside the station, nose wrinkling at the musty smell that assailed her nostrils. An unpleasant looking older woman sat behind the ticket booth, and she shot Iphany a rheumy-eyed glare upon her entry.

"May I 'elp you?" she asked sharply, unabashedly perusing the young woman's beautifully tailored robes. Erimine Matherly was not overly fond of the wealthy.

"Iphany Novara," said the girl, making an elaborate show of flicking a spot of snow off the front of her robe. "I've been authorized to-"

"Use the 'earth. That door," Erimine pointed, "Down th' 'all an' to your left."

Deciding she did not approve of this surly woman's brusque treatment, Iphany denied her the pleasure of a thank you and took the directions with a curt nod. They led her to what appeared to be some sort of staff lounge, judging by the over-worn red sofas and dirty teacups dotting the end tables. A dying fire simmered in the hearth, too small to stave off the damp chill that hung over the room. One small round window, frosted to opacity, barely let in enough light by which to see.

Iphany heard the clatter of hurrying footsteps just as she retrieved a fistfull of Floo powder from the jar on the mantle. Here came the porter, rushing against propriety to get a last glimpse of the young woman in all her terrible beauty.

"Oh," said Iphany absently. She withdrew a few Galleons and offered them to the slightly-out-of breath man. He refused with an incredulous shake of his head, thrilled to speechlessness at her generosity.

(His children and all that came after would hear of the girl in the train station. She grew more beautiful with each telling, and by the time he was ninety his great-great grandchildren knew by rote the wheezing tale of how she'd kissed him oh so sweetly on the cheek before vanishing into the roaring green flames.

_The color of a Floo fire paled beside her eyes, _he would cough.)

Shaking her head in ill-concealed disgust, Iphany tucked the money back into her pocket and tossed the Floo powder into the fire.

"Malfoy Manor!" she shouted, and then she dissapeared into the flames.

. . .

For the third time that day, Lucius tried to eat. And as it was before, the meat turned to sand in his mouth.

He threw down his fork and spat the flavorless mouthful into a napkin, grimacing as he downed a gulp of wine that was equally rancid. _It's your nerves, Malfoy. _The owls from both the Ministry and Hogwarts that came at dawn both bore the news of Icarus' trial, and the latter had also informed him that, were he willing, he would be playing host to Iphany during the week's legal preceedings. Willing? Without doubt. Happy about the situation? Difficult to say. The thought that he would be blessedly alone with his God-daughter for an entire week did something to his insides; it felt the way a sewing needle through the heart would feel. Painful, but piercing.

And Lord Voldemort was not pleased. Icarus' newfound sanity put Lucius into an unpleasant position. If it was decided that Iphany should lie, and perhaps incite the return of one of the most loyal Death Eaters, suspicion would surely arise. There had been witnesses – a fleet of them that saw Icarus hovering over his daughter's half naked body. For Iphany to deny that her father was ever anything but well-behaved would not sit well with an informed jury. But an affirmative accusation on the Siren's behalf would surely send him back to Azkaban, even if by reasons of default there was not enough concrete evidence to prove that he'd killed the Muggle girl. A competent Death Eater in jail meant fewer hands to support the revolution, and all able bodies were certainly needed at this point. In the end, it was Lucius who pointed out that Icarus could always be freed on the cusp of their first victory. Having Iphany tell the truth was the most viable choice; after all, they'd survived this long without her father, they could handle a few more months. Lucius did not acknowledge the insidious ulterior motive hovering beneath his logic; if Icarus returned, Lucius would no longer need to act as Iphany's benefactor.

In the spirit of repetitious insanity, Lucius tried a bite of vegetables only to force the ill-tasting swill down his throat with a hard swallow that made his eyes water. Perhaps nerves had theived his appetite, but that didn't explain why he had not slept since divesting Iphany of her innocence. The first night he'd merely paced, wound up with irrational rage and a lust that should have abated. Then, last night when he _tried _to sleep, it felt as though someone were driving nails through his closed eyes. The lack of rest made him feel slightly giddy, like too much wine drunk too fast. Giddy, dizzy, and decidedly melancholy, a feeling that pervaded even his full-mind worries about Icarus' trial. _Dreamless sleep draught, _he thought absently as he rose from the table and tossed his napkin to his plate. _Since the brandy isn't working._

From somewhere within the bowels of the manor, a clock sang of half past three. The low mournful chimes sounded like thunder in Lucius' ears. So sensitive was he to every sound that he spent an extra second or two easing the dining room door closed as opposed to flinging it shut with a flick of his hand. He watched his feet as he walked, trying to will the heels of his boots to cease their nerveless clattering racket.

"Lord Malfoy?"

He started violently, snapping his head up to greet the sudden voice. Iphany stood in the center of the hallway, one hand clutching a fistful of her ivory robe.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, wondering at the half-moon shadows under his unusually glass-bright eyes. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"Don't be stupid," he snapped viciously, still able to spit venom when he willed. Iphany fought the urge to flinch and instead regarded him evenly. Although they had spoken since the night of the ball, it had been under the duress of calamity, a perfect excuse to ignore the morning-after akwardness that Lucius had so politely avoided. Now hovered a thousand things unsaid, a thousand words to express her rage and sorrow at his betrayal. Iphany remembered his tender voice and his

velvet hands, the moist-warm curse of his kiss, the madness and desperation in his eyes as he thrust his wand into her chest. Waking up cold, bruised, and alone on the floor with a barren mind and aching limbs; his refusal to even breech the subject when she arrived with the body of her slain room mate the night before. She remembered these things as they wrapped a wire corset around her ribs and sucked the breath from her lungs; all so clear in his unreadable gray gaze.

"I hate you." _Love you, _said the Siren.

"Likewise." _Liar, _said the Lord.

Iphany turned on her heel and left him there, keeping with her the memory of his untouchable indifference. She did not see him stumble as she fled, did not see him lift a hand to support himself on the beautiful marble wall. His vision swam with black stars.

_Mad, _he thought dismally as he righted himself and tried not to breathe the scent of her that left its sweet poison in the hall. _I'm going mad._


	34. Truth

Song of the Siren: Truth

A/N: So FF.net and its back-logged emails blah blah blah. School is so hard right now, I'm at my wit's end trying to get out at least one chapter out a week. So I hope you guys are enjoying!

// Truth //

Harry was still sitting in the same spot when Hermione and Ron returned from dinner that night. The dark-haired boy perched knees-to-chest in the window seat by the fire, watching the scattering clouds tease the pale moon. Ron and Hermione exchanged furtively worried glances as Hermione set a foil-wrapped plate down on the end table.

"Hiya, Harry," said Ron, approaching his moping friend with all the stealth one would use in ambush. Harry didn't respond.

"We brought you some dinner," said Hermione, coming up to join Ron. Still no answer. "Harry," she said, a touch of impatience coloring her voice. "Look, she'll be back next Sunday. It's not like she's gone forever."

Shaken from his stupor, Harry turned a bleary gaze to his friends and blinked slowly. "Who?" he asked, his voice gravelly and low.

"Iphany," Ron replied. "Sh-"

"Iphany," Harry breathed, turning back to the window. His eyes watered. Hermione suppressed a grimace and tried to quell the growing feeling of unease that gnawed toothily on her already suspicious mind. Ron threw up his hands in defeat, muttered something unintelligible under his breath, and stalked up to the boy's dorm. Hermione would not give up so easily.

"Don't you think this is a bit odd, Harry?" she asked softly, motioning for him to move his legs so that she could join him on the ledge. Harry stared mutely back at her, his downtrodden expression so unavoidably woeful that she couldn't help but pity him. Hermione drew her knees up and folded her arms, surprised by a sudden drafty gust of air that whistled between some minute crack in the glass. The chill was enough to make her shiver; Harry did not seem to notice.

"What's odd?" He finally asked, leaning his cheek against the glass. A thin rime of frost drew frills and patterns around the edge of the pane.

"You," she replied bluntly. "This. Harry…" she shook her head, "I've never seen you like this before. That girl has-"

"Her name is Iphany," Harry said crisply, something sharp alive in his voice. "Not _that girl._"

"Fine. Iphany has only been…I mean, you two have only been together for a couple of months. Surely you can stand to go a week without her." Hermione, seeing the stricken face Harry pulled, tried to add a touch of cameraderie. "And besides, the three of us haven't spent any time together. It will be nice." She reached out and gave his hand a friendly pat, and was not at all prepared when he jerked back and scrambled off the windowseat like a startled beast.

"Don't," he snarled, holding his hand protectively to his chest. "You can't touch me. Only she can touch me."

Tears bloomed hot in Hermione's eyes, and they were just as much tears of rage and fear as they were of hurt. Abandoning the idea of sparing his feelings, she dashed her eyes with her hands and faced him squarely.

"You see?" She almost shouted, gesturing wildly at his hands. "She's got some kind of spell on you, Harry!"

Harry grunted wordlessly and turned away, moving towards the stairwell. He would hear no ill of his beloved Siren.

"Wait," she said desperately, heading him off at the door. "It just isn't right, Harry. It isn't natural. Everyone sees it. Why can't you? Yes, she's incredibly beautiful – Harry, I don't mean this in a bad way…but why you? Of all the people in this school, isn't it s-"

"Shut up, Hermione," Harry warned. He was now pacing back and forth like a caged animal, his hands hovering restlessly at waist level, training upward as though he meant to cover his ears and block her evil words.

"She's Lucius Malfoy's God-daughter," Hermione pressed, trying to keep him from bolting up the stairs. He moved sharply left, she countered him just as quickly. "And her father's in Azkaban for using an Unforgivable. And I can't put my finger on it…there is something not _human _about her."

Harry paused, and for a moment their eyes met, and somewhere far inside a veil lifted and Hermione saw a flash of understanding pass across his gaze. Then it was gone; ill-imagined, she thought. He looked as though he meant to say something, but then changed his mind and fell back into roiling anger.

"You've no idea what she's been through," said Harry, spitting out his words as though they tasted foul. "Besides, she loves me."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione whispered, thinking of every time she'd half-noticed Iphany cringing under his kiss, or hesitating when he drew her in for an embrace. "And…you love her?"

Harry looked as though he might swoon; he wavered uncertainly on his feet and lifted one hand to his chest. 

"I love her more than…" He trailed off, unable to find enough words to name the feeling in his heart. "It hurts," he confessed, blushing furiously. "I love her so much that sometimes it's difficult to breathe. Her voice…it's like music to me. And now that she's gone…I…"

"She's coming back," said Hermione swiftly, feeling a twinge of guilt for dragging him through the brambles like this -- even though she was now more than ever convinced something wasn't right. The Boy-Who-Lived  took a shuddering breath, bid his friend a wordless 'goodnight', and then left her standing alone in the common room.

. . .

Iphany was alone for dinner that night. Of this she had mixed emotions; part of her was bone-deep relieved that Lord Malfoy wouldn't be there to purposefully ignore her and spew out a lot of rubbish about the task at hand. The other part (and this part was considerably larger) would have given anything – _anything _just for the chance to make him look softly on her. She scraped her fork sullenly through the sauteed mushrooms and onions on the plate. Torch-lit and still, the walls of the dining hall pressed in on her from all sides, eliciting a prickly nervousness that settled between her shoulders. She did not like the way every clink of fork and glass echoed back at her; each tiny sound was magnified like screaming in the dark.

So quickly she finished, downing the remainder of her salted water in three big gulps. It was just past eight; a bit early for bathing. At least the moon was visible through the clouds tonight; it was always less satisfying swimming beneath the memory of moonlight. A passing sense of deja vous swept the Siren as she pushed open the doors and graced the bluelit hall with her ephemeral presence. How many times this summer had she fled the too-silent chamber for the still-oppressive corridors of Malfoy Manor, only to eventually and always find herself outside, hands outstretched, eyes and voice lifted as she sang down the moon? Too many to count, and so many of them spent in the lonely knowledge that her only companions were a few dim-witted House Elves and one indolent Nanny. This time she knew that she was indeed in most distinguished company, though he was more likely than not shut up in his room or study trying to ignore the reality of her presence.

Pausing before a window, she took stock of the white-washed scene outside -- one of those picture-book perfect winter visions that occur more frequently in memory than in life. Winter holds a certain wonder as it cleans the world  (if only momentarily) and on clear nights seems more loving of moonlight than the temperate seasons. Iphany breathed the dead, musty air of the manor and felt the desire for an unguarded swim fill her more completely than it had in some time. It was difficult for her to lose herself  in the pleasure of it when under the watchful eye of some well-meaning Professor. Tonight she could swim as long as she wished and sing as loud as she pleased without the fear of drawing a late-wandering student (or even worse, a late wandering Snape or Renaud.) The pond was too far from the house, she reasoned, to have to worry about Lord Malfoy hearing her.

_So what if he does, _she thought stubbornly as she quietly pushed the door open and slipped outside. _I bet he wouldn't treat me so badly if he heard me singing. _As she cruched across the crust of snow that coated the ground, she began automatically shedding her robes, already star-drunk by the wide black glamour of the velvet sky. Her cloak left a scarlet stain like blood upon the unblemished snow.

By the time she reached the pool, she was down to her underslip, a malady quickly remedied as she bent to touch the thin film of ice skirting the edge of the water. It wasn't quite cold enough yet to merit a full freeze, and she was glad of this. Ice perhaps did not sap the warmth from her skin as it did humans, but in broken shards it was sharp and dangerous. Warming the pond with a charm was an option, though Iphany rather liked the colder water – it was invigorating, and not at all unpleasant.

The very air seemed to shiver as she began her song; even the naked skelletal trees withstood the call of the encroaching wind. It was as though this place had missed her and was now enraptured by her re-appearance. Something fluttery and black sailed in and settled on a bone-crooked branch – _Diablo,_ thought Iphany hazily. To the heavens soared her voice, trilling in coluratura timbres no human throat could dare reproduce. And Iphany felt warmth, a slow clenching breath of ardor that had awoken  that summer upon her discovery of desire. This time, though, it touched some empty part of her chest, brought a beating like drums to resound in her ears. Like a slow-moving portrait wrought in gray she remembered the Siren Otilde's face, her pitying kindness when Iphany had admitted tearfully her true feelings for Lucius Malfoy. That was the thing about moonbathing – she never could control the images that danced before her waking eyes. She no longer saw the Siren's revenge – that dream had faded long ago, when she'd realized that it had never been _her_ desire, only a shadow of resentful memory, passed on like a bad gene waiting for dominance. Much of the same could be said for Lord Voldemort's cause – yes, she hated Muggleborns, yes, she believed they should be scourged from the earth, but only because she was a creature of form. She seduced Harry for the Dark Lord because it was expected of her. Truth be told, there was only one real desire in Iphany's world, and it was the one thing she could never have.

It was so easy to feign hatred, so easy to behave as though his cruelty left no clawmarks. She was practiced in the art of duplicity, it came to her like blinking. Love made her weak and worried, but it also made her _alive._

A minute passed – or perhaps a thousand – before Iphany could wrench her mind out of the nightspell and come back to reality. What good had come of her musings? Little or none, only the memory of Otilde's words – _fight for it – _seemed to rattle around inside her head like old bones in a hollow gourd.

_And why shouldn't I? _She thought fiercely as she made her way back to the house. _I deserve this. I deserve something, if only for a little while. If only for the memory of it. _She doubted seriously if Lucius would see it that way. He was so dreadfully terrified that Lord Voldemort would find out, but what did that matter now? In Iphany's mind, it was like murder – _A killer is no less guilty if he takes one life than if he takes  a hundred._

_Oh very well,_ she thought wryly as she swung the great doors open and stepped inside. _Now that you've made that decision. Just march right up there and tell him you love him. See how well that goes._

The sheer stupid simplicity of it rendered her motionless for a moment. A pain-pleasure stab of longing jostled presently against her ribs. 

A moment later found the hall empty and still save the wet slap of bare feet thundering up the stairs.

. . .

That _song._

Lucius now understood why Icarus had gone mad. The poor bastard had forever tried to re-create the glory of the music in his head with only the sad ghost of memory to guide him.

He hadn't meant to hear her. It had been so itchy and hot in his bedroom that he thought a bit of bitter air would stir the stillness, selectively forgetting that the Siren was back. By the time he'd realized what that sound was, it was too late.

He couldn't see her – thank Merlin for small blessings – but from the trail of clothing that led to the copse of trees he could only imagine what she'd look like out there. It must be something to see a Siren in her element; a bit like Heaven for the romantic, a bit like Hell for the tormented. Lucius, being the latter, assumed that nothing other than his heart could be pounding so viciously in his chest. Frozen, transfixed, he watched her appear from behind the pool looking every inch of her heritage with her hair slicked back and her limbs glistening with water. _Move, you fool,_ said some unconvincing voice from some disregarded place in his mind. He watched her like a dying man watches his last sunrise – greedily. Only when she dissappeared into the house beneath him did he come to, shaking and damp with sweat.

A pain unlike any he had ever known, a pain worse than Cruciatus peirced every nerve in his body. It was like arousal, but hateful and trembling, a magnified version of the pitiable desire he'd felt for her before. He felt that his spirit had come loose from its webbing deep within his bones and muscles, had slid from beneath its center behind his heart, and was beating about inside his skin, lost in the dark. This was not fatigue nor lack of food, this was agony that mocked physical pain.

So the knock on his door might have just been the knocking inside his skull, but the sudden spill off light into the room was most definitely corporeal. She stood before him, wet and winter-kissed, her pale cheeks blazing a neon pink.

"I love you," she said quietly, without ceremony. Lucius staggered and for a moment she thought he was drunk, but knew the madness in his eyes to be something far more dangerous.

"Shut up," he croaked, taking a step forward. Iphany flinched, but did not waver.

"I love you," she said again, matching his progression. He doubled over as if in pain and with some difficulty righted himself.

"Stop," he nearly shouted. He was coming towards her.

"I love you, Lucius. I love you."

He was on her, he grappled for her shoulders and drove her violently against the door. "Stop it. Stop!"

"I love you," Iphany sobbed, the breath knocked from her lungs. He pressed himself against her and let out something that sounded like a moan and a curse, or perhaps a prayer. "You _bastard, _I love you, and I want you, and I don't ca-"

"Oh _God,_" said Lucius. He reeled back and struck her across the face and then she _said it again,_ like a benediction. He hit her, harder this time, hard enough so that she sagged and stumbled to the floor.

"I love you," the Siren whispered, wiping the blood from her lips. Lucius was very certain he was going to die _right now._

Instead, he knelt next to her on the floor, tangled his hand in her hair, and crushed her mouth to his in a bruising kiss. He felt her sob with relief and felt the debilitating pain lift like a stormcloud, replaced by –

"I love you," said Iphany into his mouth. He tasted her blood, her tears, the faraway sweetness. In a frenzy that defied passion, he bore her up and to the bed.

This time, he did not try to be gentle. He clung to her and devoured the taste of her skin, the wiry wrap of her legs around his waist, the slick thrust of flesh on flesh. He left the purple shadow of his teeth on her neck and breasts, drew her upwards so she sat astride his lap and he held her, rocked against her, learned the shape of her body and kept her captive in his arms. The unbearable horror of denying her seemed a finite memory, remedied so swiftly and kindly in the warmth of the girl he could not touch enough.

Iphany buried her face in his shoulder and blessed the immoral heat of feeling him inside her for every moment  preceeding the thundering rush of climax, a simultaneous wonder that left her trembling and tearstruck.

He fell back against the bed and brought her along, not yet willing to surrender his hold on her. For many long minutes, neither one could even find the energy to move. Iphany thought she was floating somewhere outside this world, supported only by the solid mass of his body beneath her, a place she could inhabit forever and ever and even longer. Her bones were immaterial, she was nothing but skin and mouth and satisfaction. She felt him draw a chest-shuddering breath and roll over to one side, and instead of releasing her like she feared he drew her in so that she was tucked in the curve of his knees and chin. 

"I love you," she hummed into his throat. She felt him tighten and hold and then release.

"Don't start that again," he warned wearily, trailing the tips of his fingers along the ridge of her spine. She sighed.

"All right," she replied, flexing her palms against his chest and settling her head over his shoulder. "But I do."

"No you don't. You just…"

"Sleep," she said gently. "I'll be gone before you wake up."

_Nonono, _screamed a voice somewhere in Lucius' mind. But he knew it was for the best. He knew what would happen if he woke and found her in his bed.

She was humming quietly, a drowsy kind of peaceful sound that made his eyes feel like they weighed the world. Before he realized what was happening, he had fallen asleep, and he dreamed of this moment.

Iphany let herself stay for an hour, no longer. She was no fool. Untangling her limbs from his was no easy task – at first she feared she would wake him, but he slept so soundly that she knew he must not have rested at all since their last encounter. _Or_, she reasoned as she tugged the slip over her head_, perhaps he couldn't._

She padded quietly to the door, twisted the knob slowly open, and chanced one glance at his face before she stepped into the hall.

He was smiling.


	35. Nocturne

Song of the Siren: Nocturne

A/N: I had no idea that I have been writing this for nearly a year. Granted I took a **tiny** hiatus, but everything's back on track now, and the end of this ridiculously convoluted piece of fluff (err…) is finally in sight. Thirty-five chapters is too many. Methinks some consolidation is in order. I'm afraid I'm scaring off potential readers…

I had to go back and re-read OotP to make sure I got the Ministry phone booth sequence right. It should be annoyingly accurate.

I have, as of late, become a review monger. If you read this chapter, please review. It will be the bright spot in this harried actress' day.

// Nocturne //

_Miss Iphany Novara,_

_Your presence is requested this Monday, November 3rd,  1:00 pm at the Ministry of Magic in regards to the case against your father, Icarus Novara. You will be required to submit a testimony denying or accepting the charges raised against Mister Novara, and you will also be needed to complete the neccesary paperwork for the trial on Friday, November 7th._

_As you are under the age of legal consent, you must be accompanied by your appointed guardian. The procedures will be explained in full when you arrive. Please see Ms. Adienne Avery in the Department of Heinous Crimes._

_Cordially,_

_Gladwen Budger, Mistress of Justice_

Iphany set her orange juice down on top of the neatly folded parchment. The tawny Ministry owl trilled expectantly from his perch on the back of the chair, blinking his amber eyes in a long, languid assessment. 

"No reply," Iphany informed him. He clicked his beak a few times and then took wing, vaguely put out that he hadn't been offered a bit of that toast she'd been holding. Iphany rolled the buttered bread between her fingers and eyed the folded letter warily. The last childish hope that this was all a bad dream had been dashed by Gladwen Budger's slanted script and businesslike directives. Now came the truth of it: would Lucius expect her to lie before the court, to say that her father was nothing if not pristinely well-mannered? Would she say of his guilt that it was absurd, that the Aurors had been mistaken? What if he were freed? 

That last question elicited no internal deliberation; before she had time to think on a dreary outcome, Blat came skittering through the door of the small breakfast parlor.

"Hello, Mistress Iphany! Lord Malfoy wishes to see you in his study at once!" 

Iphany felt a familiar twist in her gut as she pushed back from the table. _Not fair, _she thought bitterly, following the Elf out into the hall. Now it was time to pretend that last night hadn't happened, that she had not sobbed three fateful words again and again into Lucius' shoulder. He would ignore, and she would ignore, for she had since learned that trying to make him speak of their sin outside the bounds of passion was beyond futile. This was an affair, a tryst to remember long into twilight, a bit of comfort to warm a lonely bed when the laws of duty hammer-fell. Perhaps she would see him at gatherings, and over the sparkling rims of wineglasses they would share a gaze-caught memory and smile. Her love would fade in eventually – didn't it always? In stories a man and woman who knew the heat of debauchery lost the flames of ardor as the years marched past and time placed its unloving hand on body and brow. Best to enjoy what came in the hidden night, the quiet night that kept secrets like a friend. Enjoy and remember, and then eventually forget. 

Iphany told herself these things, paying no heed to the protest of her heart. Blat, unmindful of her mistress' distress, performed her duty well as she led Iphany into a part of the mansion she'd never seen before. Which was odd, considering that the Siren had spent the better part of the summer committing the halls of Malfoy Manor to memory. They turned down an unfamiliar hallway of black marble, where torches flamed blue in brass sconces. The effect, Iphany supposed, was eerie, or perhaps foreboding. She thought it very _Malfoy;_ a lovely arrangement of theatrics. Amusement flirted with the corners of her mouth.

Now came the puzzle; no doors. The corridor ended abrupty at about twenty feet with no visible means of further travel. Iphany scowled down at her guide.

"Stupid," she said sharply. "You led me down the wrong hall. This one hasn't got any doors."

"Yes, it has," came Lucius' voice from somewhere behind her. Iphany squealed.

"Oh! Oh, you startled me," she gasped, whirling around to face…the empty hall. _Dear Merlin, now I'm hearing his voice…_

Blat had disappeared, and the other wall now looked as impervious as the rest. Iphany reckoned she'd stumbled on some secret trap tomb, and presently the walls would start smushing together or spikes would spring from the floor and ceiling and she would meet a very messy end. Surprisingly, the idea was vaguely appealing.

"Why, Miss Novara, I don't think I've heard you so silent in all the months I've known you."

_Not again!_

"Erm, hallo?" said Iphany, feeling stupid and suddenly scared. Death incited no fear, but Lucius' disembodied voice and the idea that he could very easily spring up on her at any minute set her teeth chattering.

"I'm here," he said, and Iphany could detect the faintest feather of amusement in the voice. She pressed herself flat against one wall, eyes darting frantically from side to side in an attempt to find some flicker of movement that was not a torch-caught shadow. For whatever reason, a smothering stab of panic grated against her spine – she was being hunted. Something irrational and primal spread from the center of her belly and said _run, run, _so she did, willy-nilly with arms akimbo as she made a frenetic dash for the solid, impenetrable wall that had been a door only moments ago.

"Where do you mean to go, Miss Novara?" came the voice again. Iphany stifled a shriek and tried her very best to breathe.

"All right, enough," she panted, "This isn't funny. We have to be at the Ministry by – ''

One by one, the torches were going out. A hiss and a sputter; a shadow. Hiss, sputter, shadow, hiss, sputter, shadow hiss sputter shadow – until the narrow and now obviously windowless hall was plunged into pure darkness. Iphany had never experienced a blackness so absolute before, even though she was well-used to the sunless beauty of navy-night darkness. She could see most perfectly by the light of the stars, but here there was nothing, no gleam, no depth of glancing silver off a pool or a rain-slick leaf. _Nothing. _She could feel the shadows in her lungs, weighing them down like sand would, she could feel the press of the black air seeking greedy purchase on her skin. A low keen came from some secret hollow in her chest, a tucked-away place reserved for expelling the greatest of fear and despair. What a time to be without a wand!

There was a dreadful ringing in her ears at the lack of sound save her own rapid breathing.

"Ohplease," she sobbed. "I can't stand it, bring back the light, please – "

Click. Click. Click. Pause. Click. Click. Footsteps.

"Now you know," he said, his voice no longer an echoed affair; it was beaten by the darkness. "How I feel."

Iphany covered her face with her hands and squeezed shut her blind eyes, so close was she to the brink of true terror. She didn't hear anymore footsteps, but suddenly he was upon her, taking her trembling hands and wrenching them upwards, pinning her wrists to the wall. Iphany screamed until he covered her mouth.

"Me," he said, as if that word essayed to soothe. "It's only me." He paused, and Iphany still could not see him but she could feel his hands, the iron grip of the one that held her fast to the wall and the other gently cupping her chin. He ran his invisible thumb over her bottom lip. She could not help but taste him.

"It should have been like this, if at all," he whispered, his mouth at her ear. She shivered, and not entirely from fear.

"Like what?" she asked, stifling a groan when he traced his fingers lightly over her throat, pausing to consider the hollow before dotting an almost uncertain path between her breasts.

"In the dark. I should have come to you in the dark, and taken you without your knowing who it was that so ruthlessly violated your sanctity. Then if our Lord should ever ask you if I touched you, you would not be lying when you answered no."

"I would have known it was you," said the Siren breathily, wondering what this was about, why he felt the need to knock out all the lights and seduce her in the dark. This certainly wasn't the greeting she'd expected. "Why are you doing this?"

A long, indeterminable pause. He dropped her hands and wrapped that arm around her waist and drew her close.

"Because I've come to a decision," he said.

Iphany waited a quite some time before prompting him to continue.

"…which is…?"

"If I am damned for a sin, why not make it worth the punishment?" He took a deep breath; in the darkness her scent was almost visible, like silver clouds swimming 'round his head. "We have a week. I know that if I try to resist you while you are so close, I will go mad. I am weak." His hold tightened on her, fingers digging painfully into her spine. "You made me this way. I will hate you forever for it."

"That's a lie," said Iphany. She squirmed uncomfortably under his hands. "You mean to say you don't want to pretend this isn't happening?" A flutter of hope took wing in her chest.

"For this week. For these few days." His hands relaxed, but Iphany suddenly felt that they were trembling. "It is all…it is the best I can do."

Iphany nearly wept. That was the kindest thing he had ever said to her.

"I accept, then," she said hoarsely, and she slipped her arms around his neck. He shuddered with relief; had he really expected her to refuse? Now Iphany, in her quiet way, understood why the darkness was necessary. He could never have said these things in the light, where she might have read a true softening in his eyes. For whatever reason, she found it endearing. 

He found her mouth and kissed her gently, a soft lingering thing that left the thrall of a promise in Iphany's body. 

"There," he said, once he had reluctantly pulled away. Iphany imagined she could see his face, carved like fine white china chinked with the gray flint jewels of his eyes. Perhaps he was smiling again.

She heard him rustling in his pockets and then a muttered _lumos. _The nearest torch bloomed yellow. Iphany blinked back sudden tears at the brightness. With a soft movement that reminded the Siren of a willow branch swooping in the wind, Lucius took her arm and looped it comfortably through his own.

"Come," he said, leading her to an empty expanse of black wall. He applied a series of important looking taps to various veins of silver in the marble, and with a grinding shove the wall slid open to reveal his study. "We have a few things to discuss."

. . .

The pale, pinkish tea cooled slowly in the blue cup, discarded readily by the Siren for its familiar flavor. Although she had previously savored the delicate rose brew, it now reminded her of Narcissa, and she couldn't be bothered with the unpleasantry. Thoughts of the fragile blonde woman were not, however, unaccompanied by a smug sense of inappropriate triumph. _Haha, _Iphany would say if she saw her, _I got him anyway._

"We're due at the Ministry in an hour, so we should make this relatively quick," Lucius was saying as he set his own cup down on the table beside his high-backed gilt chair. He watched Iphany carefully over the rims of the square silver reading glasses he had donned in order to peruse her letter from Gladwen Budger. It was different now, he thought, taking in the girl's expectantly beautiful face. He still wanted her, craved the dangerous warmth of her skin, but there was a kind of sweet peace in the wanting, in the knowing that he could have her now and save the guilt for later. For this preciously short sharp note in the song of history, she belonged utterly to him. A new feeling – he begrudgingly named it happiness – came along with this knowledge. She might be gone by Sunday, but she was here right now, and Sunday seemed a lifetime away. Then he realized that he had gone a long time not speaking, and that Iphany was smiling sweetly at him, amusement casting sunlight on the green water glare of her gaze.

"Quick?" she said, lightly teasing. He shook his head and sighed. She let the moment go.

"It has been decided that, under the circumstances, it would be best for you to testify against your father," said Lucius. Iphany felt relief wash her like an unexpected wave. "You will tell the court what you know about him, selectively omitting the part about him being a Death Eater. That is the only thing you must lie about – if they ask you that, say no."

"Easy enough," she replied, settling back into her chair. "I prefer it this way. Complications would most assuredly arise if he were freed and somehow found out…" The conjecture hovered for a moment, and then Lucius waved his hand through the unspoken words.

"Try not to make eye contact, that would be my best advice," he offered, considering his tea, and then abandoning the idea for the more entertaining task of tracing the brocade of his robe. "Lord Vo-"

"Don't," Iphany almost shouted. "Don't say that name."

That phrase had been uttered by terrified witches and wizards for decades, and yet it had never known a more poignant and tangible cause. Lucius caught himself and nodded tersely.

"Understood." Lucius stared at the pattern on the fabric so intently that it should have caught fire. "He agrees that while your father may be a valuable asset to our cause, for you to deny what twelve Aurors plainly saw would be more than a little suspicious."

"Of course," said Iphany. She glanced quickly at the clock grinning on the wall. "I suppose I should wash and dress," she told him as she rose from the chair. "What should I wear?" 

"Ah, yes. I ordered something from Madame Rotacao, something appropriate for the occasion. It should be on your bed." Lucius stood as well to escort her to the door. He placed his hand on the small of her back, and the quiet intimacy of the gesture was not lost on Iphany.

"To replace the dress you destroyed?" She asked coyly as the wall slid open again, this time on to the familiar stairwell leading up to her room. 

His only response was a smartly quirked eyebrow. A quick, almost awkward kiss found her forehead in parting, and he left her at the foot of the stairs.

. . .

When she stepped out of her house robes and regarded her naked body in the mirror, Iphany felt terribly proud of the four blue mouth shaped bruises on her skin. There was one on her neck, too high to be camouflaged by even the stoutest of robe collars. It, unfortunately, would have to go. The other three (two on her right breast and one on the soft round place where her hip curved out from her waist) could fade in their own time, and Iphany would mourn the day when her smooth white skin bore no more signs of Lucius Malfoy's lovemaking. 

With her wand she quickly healed the offending bruise, turning then to the wrapped dress laid reverently across the lavender silk of her bedcovers. She perched on the edge of her bed and gently unfolded the brown paper, catching the soft spicy scent of the store as it rose up from the velvet robe. It was tasteful and obviously expensive to even the fashion ignorant and the deep forest green would go nicely with her hair and make the odd bright glare of her eyes even more prominent. That Madame Rotacao was some form of genius.

Iphany lifted the robe up and was about to lay it aside for after her bath when something slinky and silk slipped from the folds of the fabric. Frowning, she stooped to pick up what looked like a very large lacy red handkerchief. Upon holding the mysterious item up by two hair-thin straps, she realized that it most certainly was _not _a handkerchief. 

It was negligee, filmy and nearly transparent. A pink tag fluttered from a string attached to one of the delicate lace-scalloped straps.

_Just in case,_ said the note, written in Madame Rotacao's square silver print.

The material felt like water in her hands, yielding and liquid and such a lovely, prismatic shade of scarlet. She held it up to her cheek. The audacity of the unexpected addition to her court-dress struck her as faintly inappropriate, and she had half a mind to send it back. Madame Rotacao had a great deal of gall to assume that Iphany and Lucius were lovers. Were they so obvious?

Iphany returned to the mirror and held the lingerie up to her shoulders. Despite her consternation, a smile worked its magic on her mouth. She would wear it tonight.

. . .

Lucius tried to be objective as he examined Iphany closely in her demure green robes. Her hair was braided in two careful plaits that just reached the top of her shoulders, tied off with thin ribbons to match the dress. _I should have asked for red or gold,_ he thought, smiling faintly as Iphany pirouetted for his approval. _She looks just like a little Slytherin._

"Good?" she asked, almost shyly. He nodded.

"You look lovely." He stepped forward and fingered one of the shining black braids. "I have a feeling you're going to cause a bit of a stir." His hand found her chin; he lifted her face up. "They won't be able to stop staring at you."

"Who, the men? I'm used to that. I hate it, but I'm used to it." She saw Lucius' eyes darken with something like jealousy – bait she accepted and gently dangled before him. "How will that make you feel? All those eyes on me as they secretly curse you for being closer than they are."

Following this vein of conversation would most certainly result in disregard for the quarter-of chime the clock proclaimed. They would be late as it was, given Iphany's inability to Apparate. He turned on a measure of his old snarkiness to dispel the mood as he retrieved a jar of Floo powder from the mantle. It was not, Iphany observed, without a great deal of difficulty that he ignored her taunt.

"For a child with the ability to cast an Unforgivable, it's a wonder you can't do something as simple as Apparition." He held the jar out for her. Iphany scowled as she gathered a fistful.

"I can't help it, you know. It has something to do with-"

"Enough chattering," said Lucius. "Let's go. You remember the place I told you?"

"Yes, yes," she droned, resisting the childish urge to stick out her tongue. They could play later, she supposed, a thought that sent a glorious thrill through her muscles and bones.

With a secret in his eyes that suggested he was thinking similarly, Lucius canted his head towards the fire. Iphany shot him a dazzling smile and tossed her powder into the flames.

. . .

Lucius, looking none the worse for the wear, Apparated beside her just as she was dusting the soot out of her clothes and hair.

"Nyeh," she said darkly, glaring up at him from gray-smudged eyes. Lord Malfoy suppressed his amusement and drew out  his wand, passing it perfunctorily over her robes to dispel the dirt. When he was finished, Iphany stepped back, patting her braids into place as she cast a roving eye around the small, ancient smelling room. The afternoon sun knew every dingy crack in the small stained windows, and it was with ageless perseverance that pools of watery almost-yellow trickled in to wash the time-warped hardwood floor. Dust motes danced in singular glory, sparking in and out of the improvised spotlights.

"What is this place?" she asked quietly, noting that her feet left no prints in the inch-thick layer of grime that coated the floor.

"A Floo-station," Lucius replied, tapping the doorknob twice with his wand. The door creaked open onto a half-lit back alley that led out onto a street. When Iphany looked back at the entrance, it was gone, replaced by a section of gray brick stained slightly darker than the rest of the wall.

"The entrance to the Ministry is just around this corner," he told her, guiding her in the direction of the road. "There's a bit of magic cloaking this alley."

Iphany didn't expect that he meant for her to respond, so she opted for observance as they approached a dilapidated red phone booth. Its appearance inspired a measure of curiosity in the Siren, who thus far had seen very few Muggle devices in her narrow little life. She did, at least, have a healthy fear and respect for the cars that chugged by on the road, cars that bleeped and squealed and coughed foul-smelling black smoke from their noisy tailpipes.

Having seen only a glimpse of one Muggle town, Iphany wondered if they all looked so run down. Squat, tired-looking buildings lined the narrow streets, drab and gray as the cold November morning. It was drizzling lightly, the temperature had risen just enough to change the previous day's snow into rain. So intent was she on taking in the scenery that she did not notice one of the cars slowing, its driver hanging incredulously out of the window.

"Hello, angel!" came the scrubby male voice. Lucius paused, his fingers just closing around the edge of the door to the booth. Iphany felt the palm-heavy itch compelling her to reach for her wand.

"Why dontcha ditch Daddy and come take a ride?" the driver jeered. 

"Lucius…" Iphany whispered, grabbing on to the sleeve of his robe. She ducked behind him, away from the filthy Muggle's ugly gaze. She could smell him from here. Lucius put a hand back to stay her.

"I suggest that you move along," he said, soft and dangerous, just loud enough for his voice to carry. Iphany knew, through some backwards knowledge, that they presented a confounding sight; Lucius in his dramatic black cloak and dated attire, she with a face that turned blood to fire.

"I suggest you k-"

_Hrrrooooonk!_

A line of cars had backed up behind the first, the drivers of each banging madly on their horns, raising a cacophony of noise that made Iphany's ears ring. She heard the reluctant muttering, a squealing of tires, and then the regular rhythm of vehicles zipping past.

"Get in here," Lucius hissed, propelling her into the phone booth. She didn't protest, even when his iron grip bruised her arm. As he squeezed in beside her and pulled the door to, she noticed that he was white-faced and trembling.

"Lucius," she said softly, "Are you –"

"Quiet," he barked. "And it's Lord Malfoy when you're here. If anyone hears you call me Lucius, I'll hex you when we get home."

Iphany, stung by his sudden nastiness, fell silent. Lucius regarded her stiffly, his guilt well-concealed. He did not like the way his body responded at the sight of another man openly expressing his desire for the Siren. In that one moment, he could have strangled the Muggle with his bare hands. The feeling was exponentially larger than what he had experienced watching her whirl in the arms of others at the Masque.

No more words passed between them as Lucius fumbled with the phone dial, resolutely ignoring her warm weight pressed against his back. Iphany heard the whirring and clicking as he dialed, presuming that it all had some purpose.

"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic," came a tart female voice from no place in particular. Iphany would have jumped if she'd had the space. "Please state your name and business."

"Lucius Malfoy, Independent Consultant to the Minister of Magic. I am escorting Iphany Novara to the Department of Heinous Crimes. She was summoned this morning."

"Thank you," said the voice crisply. "Visitor, please take the badge and attach it to the front of your robes."

Though Iphany couldn't exactly see past Lucius' shoulder, she heard a clattering racket and accepted the silver badge he passed to her.

_Iphany Novara, Witness Testimonial, _it smugly proclaimed in lettering as crisp as the woman's voice. She scowled as she stuck the pin through the expensive fabric of her robes. The voice came again, sounding as uninviting as ever.

"Visitor, you are required to submit to a search and present your wand for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium."

"Hm," said Lucius as the floor of the phone booth gave a shudder and a groan. "She used to wish you a pleasant day."

- - -


	36. Proof

Song of the Siren: Proof

A/N: Well, I wouldn't be writing at 3:50 AM if the people downstairs knew when to turn down their music.

In other news, I laid in bed for a couple of hours the other night harping on all the possible ways this story could go. One of them involved writing about thirty more chapters. It was quickly discarded. I also thought this story would be done at forty chapters. I was wrong.

So I've decided that everyone's waiting for me to finish before innundating me with reviews. Feel free to prove me wrong.

Also, check out my new SSxHG fic, The Devil and His Kin.

// Proof //

"I don't suppose I ever thought I'd say this," said Severus Snape as he settled into the chair across from Dumbledore's grand oak desk, "But I'm worried about Potter."

"Hm," said Albus, steepling his gnarled fingers under his bearded chin. He nodded graciously to the crystal bowl, indicating a pile of octagonal packages. "Chocolate frog?"

In the spirit of always, Severus shook his head. If Dumbledore found this rude, he did not show it. After all, Professor Snape never was much for sweets.

"What is it that worries you?" Dumbledore asked gently, knowing very well that this was not a topic with which his colleague felt comfortable. Snape shifted in his seat and allowed himself the luxury of a sigh.

"He cried in class today," Snape began, directing his narrow coal gaze at the headmaster. "At no fault of my own, Headmaster. I would admit if I were responsible. I treated him the same today as I have before."

"Which is gently, I'm sure," said Albus blandly, perpetually dry with his truths. A smile like the thin crack of an eggshell broke the line of Snape's mouth.

"Right. Well, as you know, Miss Novara is out this week. She and Potter are Potions partners, which may explain why he's done…well…this quarter." As Snape said the word _well, _his face took on the curious shape of one who has just bitten into a lemon. "Since Novara is gone, Potter had to fend for himself. I made a very vague comment about his competence and he…burst into tears and fled the room."

"I suppose you realize that Iphany and Harry are somewhat of an item," said Dumbledore easily. "I expect that given Iphany's curious nature, Harry's attachment to her is stronger than usual."

Snape did not seem particularly satisfied with this answer. He was silent for a moment, contemplating the state of his knuckles, and then with a sharp jerk, he sat forward. 

"I won't dance around this, Albus," said Snape with an urgency that Dumbledore couldn't help but notice. "There is something not right about all of this. Why  Potter? Of all the boys in this school, she just happened to fall for the one who poses the greatest threat to Voldemort. Lucius hasn't told me anything, understand, but I would not be surprised if she's tied in with the Death Eaters somehow."

"Have you any proof?" asked Dumbledore. His ever-present almost smile was gone. In truth, he had often, in the secret shadows of his mind, wondered the same thing. It was an obvious suspicion, given the loyalties of Iphany's father and that of her God-father. But even Albus, in his ultimate wisdom, grew dangerously soft when he cast his seeing gaze on the black-haired Siren.

"None I can tell. I suppose I should have watched Lucius more carefully at the ball, but he disappeared long before midnight, and it was damnably hard to place him in the crowd."

"Well," said Dumbledore, shifting creakily in his high-backed chair, "There is only one way to find out for sure."

Snape bowed his head for a moment.

"If you think it safe," the Headmaster continued, "Perhaps it would be wise for you to pay Lucius a visit."

"He will be suspicious," Snape said immediately. He had known it would come to this. "He may not tell me anything. I do not hold the Dark Lord's favor now, even for all the 'information' I've ferreted back and forth. My place in his ranks is tenebrous at best. But I know there is something…I have watched her, Albus, and I will admit that my thoughts were not always noble."

"That is to be expected, Severus," said Dumbledore, "Given what she is."

"It isn't just that," said the Potions Master stiffly, deftly concealing a measure of shame. "She…haunts the thoughts. I never dream, and yet I dream of her." He swallowed hard and leaned forward. "You do, too."

Albus was quiet for a long time. Below them a bell sounded, followed by the raucous shouting and laughter of  students pouring in to the halls.

"I know Voldemort," said Snape quietly, staring down  at his hands. "Perhaps not as well as some, but I know how he works. Miss Novara is the greatest weapon he could ever hope for – she clouds the mind, dulls the perception and claims logic with a wink. Think of the way she has affected us, and imagine what would happen if she so much as whispered sweetly in your direction."

The white haired wizard rose from his seat with a sigh of the aging and made for the window, pausing to scratch absently at Fawkes' head.

"I am an old man, Severus," he said finally. "I do not feel things the way I used to. I only know a faint sadness when I look at her, a kind of sweet melancholy that lingers long after she is out of sight. You're right, though. I do dream of her."

"Now think if you were Potter's age," said Snape. "He never had a chance."

"I am an idealist," said Dumbledore. "It is both my greatest flaw and my greatest weakness. I would more than anything like to find that Iphany is simply ill-born, that despite her past she is kind and good at heart. It brings me joy to see Harry with her, for I have never seen him look so happy. They are very much alike, you know, if in nothing else but circumstance."

Snape remained silent; he knew Dumbledore's ways like his own. The racket of voices and footsteps had died to silence again, now and then punctuated by a set of (late) feet galloping to class.  

"We will do this," said the Headmaster after a time. "Icarus Novara's trial is on Friday. It would not be out of place for you to attend, given your former alliance with his ilk. Afterwards, see that Lucius invites you to his home. If he will not tell you directly, watch how he treats her. You are the most perceptive man I know, I have no doubt that whatever you glean about their affilliation will be accurate."

"All right," Said Snape as he lifted out of his chair. "I'll have someone take over my classes on Friday."

"Severus…" 

Snape paused, his hand on the door. "Yes?"

"Treat Harry…softly, if you would. He has suffered enough."

A frown settled across the Potion Master's brow, but he nodded it away for the old fool's sake.

"I will try," he said.

. . .

Iphany blinked as she stepped out of the booth, which had presently ground to a creaking halt at the mouth of a long, impressive looking hall. The dark wood floors gleamed with the dancing light of the hearth-fires studding the walls, and the enchanted blue ceiling looked like something out of a vague, forgotten dream. Now and then one of the fires blazed green and a rumpled looking witch or wizard would shoot out of the grate, recover quickly, and join the sparse throng of people sauntering down the corridor. Lucius, unimpressed and unruffled, laid his hand on Iphany's shoulder and bent down to speak softly into her ear.

"You should pull your hood on," he said quietly, "To avoid – "

"Yes, yes," said Iphany as she obligingly lifted her cloak-hood over her head. "Better?"

Lucius did not answer, nor did he take his hand off her shoulder as he directed her down the hall. Iphany couldn't see anything more than legs and waists, but she could tell each time someone paused to look at her by the way Lord Malfoy's grip tightened. After a minute or so, they halted in front of a small desk, and because its occupant was sitting rather than standing, he was the first to get a good look at her face.

"Mister Malfoy, sir," said the unkempt wizard as he stared unabashedly at the Siren, "You ne-"

"On with it," Lucius growled. Iphany stood very still as the wizard, with hands atremble, passed a skinny golden rod about her body.

"W-wand," he stuttered, and Iphany obediently fished it out, trying not to wince at the ferocious pressure of Lucius' hand. The other wizard placed her wand on a small scale and then retrieved a slip of parchment that shot out of the base.

"Ten inches…_Siren hair core?_"

"That is correct," said Lucius sharply. "Now give it back so we can be on our way."

The frazzled wizard thrust Iphany's wand back at her, and she pocketed it with a generous sniff and tilt of her small chin. Lucius nodded sharply at the security guard and steered his charge back into the thin flow of human traffic. They passed through a set of golden gates into a smaller hall, where a row of lifts stood in patient wait behind sliding grilles. A handful of witches and wizards, just back from mid-day break, waited patiently for the next lift to arrive. Gentle, amiable post-lunch chatter hovered at a respectable volume, but every voice lowered on cue when Lucius Malfoy entered with a be-hooded figure roughly the size and shape of a young  girl.

"Grayson," she heard Lucius say, a stalwart greeting for someone in the crowd. There was an unmistakable throat-clearing noise and the shuffle of moving feet.

"Afternoon, Lucius,"  said the man. Iphany was dying with curiosity, but she suspected that Lucius would not want her to lift her head unless he commanded it. So she stared resolutely at the hem of the stranger's robe, which by her observation appeared to be well-made and finely stitched.

"Who's that you've got there?" 

Iphany could practically hear Lucius flinching. _He truly hates this, _she thought with mild amusement. A truly inappropriate idea took her by the chest and very nearly made her giggle aloud.

"Oh…my God-daughter. Iphany Novara," said Lucius reluctantly.

"A pleasure to meet you," said Iphany sweetly, flinging her hood back and flashing the stranger (who was not, she noted, unattractive) a brilliant grin. Someone in the crowd stifled a gasp. Grayson Something-or-other reeled as if she'd struck him in the face. He recovered quickly and offered a hand to her.

"Miss Novara," he said smoothly, "A pleasure. I am Grayson MacNair, my father and your God-father are very good friends."

MacNair – the name rang a familiar bell – oh, yes. Death Eater. Iphany placed her green-gloved hand in his, and she was so close to Lucius that when Grayson bent to kiss her knuckles, she could feel the tightly-wound Malfoy suck in a breath behind her.

"She's lovely, Lucius," said Grayson, though his eyes were still on the Sirenchild's. "Icarus' daughter?" Pause. He lowered his voice. "It's a shame many of us didn't know she existed until the news of the trial came about."

"Yes, well, you know how those things are," said Lucius tightly.

Ping! To their left, the grille slid back and one of the lifts opened. Iphany moved to join the people filing in to the compartment, but Lucius held her back.

"We're going down," he explained. "I'll see you, Grayson."

"Soon," Grayson replied as he squeezed into the lift. As the doors were sliding closed, another grille clanged open, and by the small lighted down-arrow gleaming from the center, Iphany suspected that this was the one they wanted. Lucius all but shoved her inside and punched the 'Level 12' button so many times that she was afraid he was going to break it.

Once the doors slid shut, he drew back and slapped her across the face. Iphany yelped in outrage and lifted a hand to her stinging cheek.

"What d- "

'That was for trying to make me jealous," he hissed. She was about to respond when he seized her by the waist, dragged her close, and kissed her fiercely on the mouth. He broke away and hovered above her lips. "That was for succeeding."

Iphany, torn between anger and arousal, slithered out of his grasp just as the doors opened again.

"Level Twelve, Department of Criminal Investigation, including the Department of Heinous Crimes and the Department of Unsolved Catastrophes. Underpass to Waiting Rooms," said the pristine female voice from the phone booth.

"This is it," said Lucius. He stepped out of the lift.

"Now, look," said Iphany crossly, "Who was- "

"Silence," said Lucius.

Grumbling under her breath, she followed him dutifully into the hall, which was a great deal darker, colder, and more foreboding than the entry foyer. Aging stone slick with cool green moss lined the walls, and the floors were made of cracked, shivering white marble. A feeble fire burned in the hearth at the end of the hall. 

Lucius took her by the shoulder again (she was beginning to feel like a dog on a leash) and started down the corridor. Iron doors marked with curious symbols studded the distance between the lift and the fireplace. Lucius paused after a moment and regarded one of the doors.

"Yes,"  he muttered, and then he raised his hand and knocked. The portal swung open on protesting, squealing hinges. Iphany winced.

Inside there was a well-lit, decidedly better-tended waiting room. A braided blue rug stretched the length of the floor, and comfortable-looking couches sat in quiet wait under the high-burning oil lamps. 

"Sit," Lucius commanded sharply. Iphany decided on a whim that she didn't like him very much today and resisted the urge to stick out her tongue. Still she obeyed, slipping from his hand to settle on one of the sofas, which shifted to suit her shape and weight and smelled a little like cedar and mothballs. A stack of year-old Daily Prophets sat on a table near her elbow. Blowing out an appropriately exhasperated sigh, she snatched one up and stared moodily at the dusty cover. Apparently the people who waited in this particular alcove did not often have the whim to read.

Lucius watched her silently for a moment before approaching the small reception window at the back of the office. A pink-faced, pudgy girl no older than twenty went even pinker when he glared down at her through the glass. She scrambled up and slid the partition open.

"Hello," she squeaked. "Are you – "

"Lucius Malfoy," he said swiftly, looking over the secretary's head into the dim hall beyond. "I have an appointment with Adienne Avery. I'm here on behalf of Iphany Novara."

"Yes, sir, Mister Malfoy. I'll tell her you are here." She paused and tugged spasmodically at an unruly red curl. "Mrs. Avery's last appointment was a half-hour late, though, so it may be a few minutes before-"

"Just tell her we're here," he interrupted, waving off the unneccesary babble. 

"I will, sir," said the girl. She offered him a meek smile (which he did not return) before reluctantly sliding the glass closed again.

With nothing to do but wait, Lucius stepped back from the window and looked at Iphany. She was scowling prettily as she scanned the inside of a yellowing newspaper, eyes darting swiftly across the small print. He briefly debated taking a chair across the room from her and immediately discarded the idea. Iphany looked up from her reading when he settled down on the couch beside her. She lifted a brow in question.

"We have to wait," he proclaimed. The Siren pursed her lips and nodded haughtily at him, and then went back to her paper. 

The minutes slogged by. Iphany thumbed voraciously through one paper and started on another, refusing to give Lucius the pleasure of her attention. The kiss in the elevator had done nothing but whet her craving, and since he was acting like a bossy git, she was prepared to punish him for it. At least for a little while.

Fifteen minutes. Iphany found a comfortable rhythm in tapping her feet against the floor in time with the stupid jingle she had stuck in her head. _Annual Merlin and Circe parade interrupted by sudden rainstorm, _she read. Yawn. Thump, thump, thumpthumpthump.

"Stop that," said Lucius. She stopped without acknowledging him. The steady tick of the wall clock punctuated the silence. Lucius stared at the impenetrable wall. By all appearances, he looked to be concentrating very hard on something. Another minute crawled by.

"The man you saw in the elevator," he said quietly, for lack of else to do, "Is th-"

"Hush," said Iphany primly. "I'm reading." She straighted her paper with a flourish and ignored him again.

But at half past one, she couldn't stand it anymore. With a noisy huff, she tossed the Daily Prophet on the floor.

"I'm bo-o-ored," she whined, kicking sullenly at the carpet. Lucius sniffed.

"I offered conversation," he said silkily, "Which you politely declined."

"I don't want your conversation," Iphany snipped. Lucius regarded her with something like amused incredulity.

"My, we're in a mood."

"No, you're in a mood," she fired back, and then for emphasis she pointed at her cheek. Despite her irritation, she lowered her voice for his benefit. 

"I realize you don't want anyone to know about…about _us, _but if you keep treating me like a House Elf…I'll…" She searched for the most loathesome punishment imaginable, and after a moment her face took on a lovely wicked glow. "I'll lock myself in my room and I won't come out," –for emphasis- "all week."

Balanced on the thrilling edge of this giddy, infuriating exchange, Lucius' voice remained smooth as wine.

"Miss Novara," he said, and against the bells of warning in his head, he moved closer to her. "Are you, by any chance, threatening me with sex?"

"No, sir," she replied sweetly. "I'm threatening you,"  -she put one small hand on his thigh- "with _no _sex." A quick, flashing smile.

The response she intended to invoke was not the one she received. Fairly certain he would blanch at her threat, the Siren sat back to watch the timbre of her proclamation play across his face. His eyes remained, for a moment, curiously blank.

 He saw her then, if only for one trembling second, as if for the first time. The sultry spirit in her forward glances, the right-place pressure of her warm palm; the half-haunted joy in her eyes, the tender vigil of an almost smile praying upon her mouth – these things he recognized, and _had_ seen before. What he discovered, haltingly, was the sudden brilliant flare of a soul so pure that it defied any means or reason. In the eternal breath of a second he _knew _her as she truly was, as she could have been without the tarnish of abuse and corruption. And he knew the word for the feeling that welled in his chest and filled his mouth with a bittersweet thrill.

"Mister Malfoy?"

He shot out of his seat like a runner at the starting pistol. The fat-faced receptionist was peeking over the edge of the glass partition.

"Mrs. Avery says you can come in now." She could not help but stare at the black haired girl sitting on the couch.

"Come on, Iphany," Lucius snapped. He took her by the wrist and might have exerted a little too much force as he wrenched her upward. No sound of pain or protest from the Siren. He could have dragged her through a briar bed at that moment and she would not have cared.

In his eyes, she saw love.

. . .__


	37. Reason

Song of the Siren : Reason

A/N: Sorry for the delay. Thanks for reading!

Reason

_i love you as certain dark things are to be loved;_

_in secret, between the shadow and the soul._

_pablo neruda_

"Lookit, Harry," said Ron. "Mum sent us some fudge, that almond kind you like so much. Want a bit?"

"No, thanks," Harry said dully. He angled his knife down towards his plate and the seven green peas he had worked so hard to balance went rolling back into the indeterminable pile.

"You've got to eat something, Harry," said Hermione firmly. "You skipped dinner and you didn't even touch breakfast. You'll never make it through Transfiguration on an empty stomach."

"I told you," said Harry, impatience giving his tone a lackluster vigor. "I'm not hungry."

"I'm sure she'll write, mate," said Ron in an attempt to console. "It's only been a day."

Hermione shot Ron a look of pure contempt. _Don't,_ she mouthed. Ron shook his head and set his jaw firmly. __

_Trying to help, _he mouthed back.

Harry interrupted their silent exchange with a sigh. Her attention diverted, Hermione deigned to try one more time.

"Just a bite of potatoes, Harry. Then we'll leave you alone."

"Will you shut up, too?" Harry snapped, something nasty and unexpected in his voice. Hermione tried not to look as though she'd been slapped. Over the years, the three of them had come to know one another as well as family, and as in any family there were times of snip and sourness. The Boy Who Lived was certainly not immune to bad temper, but of the trio he was usually the first to mediate peace in times of discord. In the past twenty four hours, he had been the _embodiment _of discord. Hermione remembered briefly the episode in Potions that morning and fought a shudder at the memory of Harry's features contorted in anguish.

"Yes," said Hermione finally, catching Harry's fleet, nerveless stare. "A bite, and I'll…shut up." She spiced the last two words with no small amount of even venom.

"Fine," said Harry. He palmed his fork and stabbed viciously at a round, red skinned potato and thrust it in his mouth. He chewed violently for a moment, pulled a wretched face, and spit it out into his napkin.

"Tastes like sand. Are you bloody satisfied, Hermione?" With his fork clenched in a white-knuckled fist, he suddenly appeared as an unbalanced madman; his trembling hands playing in quiet symphony with the blue shadows under his eyes, and his half-bared teeth gave him a swiftly feral edge.

Ron stared resolutely at his fudge. A light flickered and then blazed like day in Hermione's eyes. Inside her ever-whirring brain, something went _click!_

"Sand?" she whispered, nearly smiling. Harry regarded her emptily.

"Sand. You know, like the stuff by the-"

"Ocean," she murmered. "Oh my…"

Without another word, she leapt out of her seat, snatched up her satchel, and went tearing out of the Hall. Ron watched her go, shaking his head in consternation.

"Now you've done it. There she goes," he said in false despair, trying valiantly to imbue Harry's taut silence with some measure of levity.

"Wherever she goes, I hope she stays there," Harry muttered darkly. That was quite enough for Ron. He scrambled ungracefully out of his seat, knocking over his pumkin juice in the process. Orange liquid spread in a sticky circle across the table, and a few seats down Neville Longbottom (who, mind you, had most certainly _not _been eavesdropping) had to shoot up out of his chair to avoid the mess. The mild ruckus caused a swift ripple of attention to sweep the students still straggling in the dining hall, so that by the time Ron started yelling at Harry, the entire hall had gone silent.

"She's trying to help, you stupid git!" Ron shouted. "So starve to death for all I care! That girl has…she's…she's ruined you, Harry! You've gone totally _mad, _and I-"

"YOU'RE JUST JEALOUS," Harry bellowed, "Because likes ME better than you, just like everyone else!"

Ron's mouth dropped open, and for a moment he simply gaped like a fish drowning in fresh air. In that fractured second, clarity made brief contact with Harry's lovesick brain. His heart dropped like a stone.

"Ron," he whispered, "I'm so-"

"Save it," Ron spat, his voice tenoring on a broken note. "I just hope she's worth it."

With thirty pairs of eyes glued to his back, Ron made a remarkably noble exit, slamming the doors with a sound like a small explosion. Then the eyes shifted to Harry. Instantly his malice returned.

"Mind your own business," he hissed. Someone ducked as though they were expecting him to throw a plate.

In an expression of equal dramatics, Harry stormed out.

…

Iphany reasoned that if she lived to be a hundred, she would never forget Lucius Malfoy's patented look of disdain. It varied, she had come to discover, depending on the functioning circumstance. On most occasions it was a light, effortless curl of his upper lip, a whisper of lines between his brows and an acute cant of his chin. In times of stress or strain the tension of his forehead would draw tighter, like a bowstring, and the shape of his mouth would sharpen to counterbalance the change. If he was feeling particularly smug or secretly superior, he wore only a shadow of derision and disapproval.

As they marked the hallway between the waiting room and Adienne Avery's office, Iphany had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing out loud at the look on his face. In truth, noone else would have noticed a difference – but Iphany _knew_ what she'd seen in his eyes, and she knew how adversely Lucius reacted to soft feelings. She also knew far better, by now, than to nettle him. So as they rounded the corner, she drew up to his side long enough to brush the back of his hand with the tips of her fingers. It was a small thing interpretable as a teasing promise or as a silent _I know._

The door to Adienne's office was open, and the golden lamplight inside cast a half arch of illumination on the bare stone floor. Lucius guided Iphany with a touch of his hand to her shoulder, directing her to sit in one of the red armchairs across from the desk. Adienne glanced up as they entered and offered a wan, bloodless smile. She was a slender shadow of a woman who possessed a kind of tired prettiness, caught in the middling years between thirty and forty that made her true age difficult to guess. She smoothed back her pale, almost blonde hair with a beringed hand, her nondescript brown eyes even and assessing over the rims of her oval glasses.

"Mister Malfoy," she said softly, without lifting her eyes away from Iphany. "And this is Iphany, I presume?"

"Yes," Iphany replied, smiling with guarded insincerity. Lucius appeared to be suppressing some kind of smile or scowl, judging by the tight tremble of his mouth. He took a seat next to her and folded his hands across his lap, gazing expectantly at the woman in front of them.

"Well,"said Adienne, lifting a single sheet of parchment out of the folder on her desk. She adjusted her glasses, shoving the wire bridge further up on her narrow nose. "I suppose you know why you are here."

"Yes," Iphany replied blandly, avoiding the urge to pop out a sarcastic response. Lucius chuckled silently, as if he could somehow hear her unspoken impertinence.

"You'll be required to state and sign a testimony today, and Wednesday you'll have a private witness meeting with the high order of the Wizengamot. Since you are technically still underage –" (Iphany found this inappropriately funny) "You'll be subject to a series of questions before you're allowed to testify."

Still biting back a smile, Iphany managed a nod.

"You will be required to cosign Miss Novara's statement and be present at all of the proceedings." Adienne said this in Lucius'general direction, though her eyes remained on a spot curiously high above his head. Iphany suddenly became aware of an acute tension settling between the two adults. Lucius was as calm and unflappable as always, but the older woman regarded him with a kind of wistfulness that seemed an odd mix of longing and loathing. Iphany knew that dance well, which was why the sudden thrill of protective jealousy she felt did not go unaccompanied by a quiet whisper of pity.

Adienne was talking again, apparently to Iphany. Shaken out of her musing, the Siren cleared her throat.

"I'm sorry, I missed that last bit," she said as politely as she could manage. Adienne masked a frown and pointed at the paper.

"I said, do you, Iphany Mer Novara, say yes to the charge of attempted rape raised against your father?"

Pushing away the memory and concentrating only on the shapeless words, Iphany nodded, and then answered,

"Yes."

A quill hovering above the parchment scratched out the letters with a sound like leaves over dry bone. Adienne pushed the paper across the table and handed Iphany the quill. Iphany didn't bother perusing the document – she didn't want to read it, didn't want to see the words _Icarus _and _Father _and _rape. _So she signed her name with a messy flourish, shoved the paper over at Lucius and then took to staring resolutely at the carving on the desk.

Lucius glanced over the document briefly before scrawling his signature across the bottom. He looked up at Adienne as he pushed the paper back to her.

"You're finished," said the older witch, her feathery voice as insubstantial as the implaccable sadness hidden behind the frames of her glasses. "Someone will contact you with further information."

Iphany couldn't resist another swift perusal of the woman's face as they stood to go. She would be beautiful by candlelight, reasoned the Siren. A thin flickering flame would finish the lines of her mouth, stretch her pale lashes into long black shadows and define the hidden amber in her eyes. Iphany could not decide why she cared so much, but as soon as the door to the office closed, she sidled up to Lucius' elbow and tugged his the sleeve.

"You were lovers, weren't you?" She asked, searching his face for signs of recognition.

"Later," he ground out, stepping slightly ahead of her and rounding the corner into the lobby.

"Have a pleasant afternoon, Mister Malfoy!" Called the receptionist, who had most certainly _not _been awaiting their return. Lucius did not respond, but the girl turned around and gave the young woman a haughty, presuming smirk that she would remember long after they were gone.

Iphany waited until the moment the lift's iron grille slid shut before asking about Adienne again.

"You know each other, I can tell that much," she persisted, flattening herself nonchalantly against the mirrored wall. The position was driven primarily by self-preservation; his smirk wasn't particularly effortless right now, and she was well aware of what that insinuated.

Instead of lashing out with tongue or hand, he remained perfectly silent. Iphany stamped her foot and blew out an impressively huffy sigh.

"So much for this morning," she mumbled. Lucius fixed her with a quiet stare; she saw that soft thing visit his eyes again and felt momentarily placated. Perhaps he did not understand or care for warmth and affection, but the fact that he was unable to conceal the truth in his gaze made up for his reticent, irrational behavior.

The lift continued, uninterrupted in its ascent. Without being told, Iphany replaced the hood of her cloak and bowed her head. And what Lucius tried to hide in his steel façade, the Siren felt in the unintentional gentility of his guiding hand on her shoulder.

Since the after-lunch crowds had long returned to their desks, the Lord and his ward encountered little resistance between the lifts and the exit. Now that Iphany was a registered visitor, she was allowed to use the Floo network attached to the main entrance hall. This she preferred to braving the Muggle streets of London, even well-guarded as she was.

Iphany couldn't help recognizing a faint feeling of disappointment as she signed out with the fumbling desk clerk and turned in her badge. Today, all in all, had proven to be somewhat anticlimactic. She'd expected something a little more dramatic, a little more taxing. Something a shade more difficult than signing a paper in the dim office of a sad shadow-woman.

She said as much to Lucius as they crossed the now-empty foyer, heading for the hearth that would connect them to the manor. He chuckled at her naivety, and was secretly glad for her pursuit of the new topic.

"You'll get your dramatics," he said evenly, "When it comes time to face your father in court. These are formalities, the trial itself will be an entirely different experience."

"You'll be there, won't you?" she asked, unaware of the sudden weakness threading through her tone. Lucius nodded stiffly, his chin jerking as though it were hung with puppet strings.

"I'll be there," he said. "Here, this is the grate. I'll meet you back at the manor."

Iphany reached into the jar he offered, fingers sifting through the sooty powder. She pulled a sour grimace as she faced the flames.

"I really do hate this, you know," she commented, heaving a sigh as she flung the powder into the fire. "Malfoy Manor!"

As she swirled out of sight, Lucius permitted himself the luxury of a laugh, and then with a -pop!- he Dissapparated.

…

Lucius 

_How's the weather?It rains here._

_Regards,_

_Severus_

"Well, that's strange!" Iphany piped, having clamored out of the fireplace to peer intently over Lucius' shoulder at the letter he was holding. Soot from her braids rained down on the parchment, which Lucius presently snatched out of her view.

"You're getting it dirty," he said swiftly. "Get that soot off and I'll show you something."

"Oh, fine," Iphany sulked, pulling the ribbons off the ends of her braids and shaking the dust out of her hair. In the meantime, Lucius had settled into his armchair and was tapping the paper with the tip of his wand.

"Well?" asked Iphany, planting her hands on her hips. Lucius looked up and started violently. He hated how every time he looked on her fully, it felt like the first time, and it felt like the warning signs of a heart attack.

"What? I have to start over now," he said, internally commanding his voice to make it out of the trembling place where it caught in his throat.

"I'm waiting," she said. He shook his head, alternating between the idea of ignoring her completely and entertaining her impertinence.

"Just sit," snapped Lucius, pointing at the footstool. Iphany gave him a look that made him wonder if he had sprouted tentacles, then bypassed the stool to settle her small, leggy bulk into his lap.

"I'm not a dog, you know," said the Siren pleasantly. Lucius, being momentarily and thoroughly distracted, made a noncommittal noise of assent.

"Now look," he said, once he was able to think past the dusky violet scent of her hair. She squirmed in his lap."You are making this extraordinarily hard."

"I can make it harder," she whispered.

Lucius groaned.

"Just give me five minutes," he growled. It was the closest he'd ever come to begging.

"I'm going to want more than that," came her lush response.

"Off!" He roared, shoving her unceremoniously onto the footstool. Iphany gave an outraged cry.

"Fine!" She shouted, "Read your stupid letter!"

"I'm going to," He replied mildly, glad he could still maintain some measure of control. He'd decided to wear the moon-shaped amulet while they were at the Ministry, so her touch was like hot coal instead of hellfire – it hardly made a difference, but at least the _idea _of resistance was there. While she sulked and scowled on the stool, he took his wand and tapped and scratched the letter in an intricate series of movements. Iphany was intrigued in spite of herself.

"Well?" she asked, watching a smirk ride the curve of his lips.

"It seems we're to have some company," he said lightly. "One of my traitorous collegues is, once again, being chain-led by his new Master."

"Traitorous?" said Iphany. "Who's a traitor?"

"Your very own Potions Master, Professor Snape," Lucius answered. He lay the letter aside to summon parchment and a quill with a flick of his wand.

"I don't understand," Iphany trilled, arranging herself on the stool so she could peer over the top of the letter. "I thought he was a Death Eater."

"He was," said Lucius. "It's a rather long story. Omitting all the dragging details, he now believes himself a trusted spy of Lord Voldemort, charged with bringing us information about Dumbledore and Potter and the petty resistance. In reality, Snape has gone soft. He actually supports that Muggle-loving excuse for a wizard." Lucius shook his head, mirth writing lines around his mouth.

"So Voldemort feeds him false information?" Asked Iphany, sidling just a hair closer so she could rest her hands and chin on his knee. Lucius regarded her quietly. He was unable to resist his hand's desire to court the sleek line of her angled cheek. She let out a comfortable sigh and gave him a skin-warming smile.

"That's right," he said softly.

"So?" she said, "What are you going to do?"

"Not me," He replied, sifting two fingers through a stray lock of jet hair. "You."

…

"He wants me to come to dinner," said Snape, holding out the rolled parchment for Dumbledore's perusal. "Tonight."

"Interesting," Albus said. "Why tonight, I wonder?"

"I haven't the slightest idea."

Albus unrolled the letter and set himself to reading, giving Snape a moment to pace aimlessly over to the fogged window. The early snow, half-melted by the morning rain, would freeze again as the temperature fell tonight. It would be nearly unbearable in the dungeons. An evening spent in the warmth and grandeur of Malfoy Manor sounded almost appealing, despite the odiousness of the company involved.

"In the best case, he may intend to enlighten you on the nature of the Dark Lord's plans," said Albus. Severus started, almost violently.

"Or he might just want to dress the girl up and parade her around in front of me," said Snape drily. "That would be a decidedly Malfoy thing to do."

"Regardless, you would be foolish to refuse. The fact that he invited you over shows some measure of improvement in your status." Dumbledore tucked the letter into a drawer and smiled. Snape nodded tersely and suppressed a heavy sigh, settling himself into a chair.

"Should I attempt Leglimency on the child?" He asked, knowing full well that trying it on Lucius would be a mistake. Though he was nowhere near as adroit in the art as Voldemort, the patriarch of the Malfoy family knew enough about Occlumency to make using it on him a dangerous sally.

"If you think it safe, then yes. Do be careful, though. She's not human. There may be ramifications in probing an inhuman mind."

"I never had any problems with that half-Veela who joined the order," said Snape offhandedly. "There sh-"

"Understand something, Severus," Dumbledore said, an impressive shade of gravity coloring his voice. "There is no such thing as half-Siren. Their blood is ancient and strong. She may be Icarus'daughter, but Iphany is as much Fey as the first of her kind, and possesses powers that even she has yet to discover. That is why it is of such grave import for us to discern the slant of her loyalty. I think she can be swayed to our cause because Voldemort is unaware, or refuses to acknowledge her true potential. It is his greatest weakness – he believes that none could possibly be as powerful as he."

"Still, you believe he may be using her to get to Potter," Snape argued. "He obviously has some inkling of what she can do."

"If I were to venture a guess, I would say that he would do just that, and when Harry is disposed of, he will take her for himself." The ancient wizard shrugged and removed his spectacles. "But my heart tells me that is not the case. She was, after all, Sorted into Gryffindor."

"Which automatically makes her blameless," said Snape icily. Dumbledore fell silent. A moment or two passed in this way.

"Well," Snape intoned finally, rising swiftly from his chair. "Give my regards to the others at dinner. I'm certain they'll miss me."

Albus had scarcely looked up before the door clicked shut.

"Good luck, Severus," he murmured, his words flat and formless against the empty echo of the walls.


	38. Lure

Song of the Siren: Lure

A/N: Oh, GOD, it's never going to end. No, it is. It's going to. Some day. I hope. I'm holding Lord Malfoy hostage for reviews.

/Lure/

The cold, metal-colored clouds, having tired of spitting drizzly rain for the better part of the day, were gathering again at the horizon. Their low bellies were puffed with the grey heaviness of impending snow, mimicking with grave definition the quality of sky on the night after the Masque at Hogwarts. Severus Snape turned his face towards the heavens and was rewarded with a hard pellet of sleet in the eye for his trouble.

He stood – or, more accurately, paced just outside the gates of Malfoy Manor, having Apparated a good ten minutes prior. The wind bemoaned a threatening drop in temperature, skirling through the skelletal branches of the frozen trees. Cold as he was, Severus could not find the gall to lift his aching, reddened fingers to the latch. The potential events of the evening held him firmly at bay, spreading out as paths of possibility ranging from the grimmest of horrors to mild discomfort. One could never truly predict the outcome of time spent in Lucius' company.

It was the sudden flurry of Knut-sized snowflakes that decided Severus' fate. With the resigned sigh of a prisoner marching dutifully to the gallows, he clasped the gatelatch and pushed.

…  
  
"Master Severus Snape!" cried the House Elf, standing back from the dining room door to allow Snape's passage. He paused a moment, once again taken aback by the sheer luxury and opulence of the hall. The entire room was done up in silver and violet, and the light of a thousand candles set every exposed surface agleam. The two-hundred seat table stretched the length of the chamber; Snape had, in the past, seen a time when every chair was full and the promised thrill of blood and debauchery hovered like a miasma overhead. Tonight, however, there were but three places set; at the far end he could see Lucius at the head of the table with the Siren to his right.

Having expected a jolt of apprehension upon taking in the regal golden visage of his secret nemesis, Snape was startled to find that his gaze landed immediately on the silent Siren. Perhaps not startled; no, that was credit to his virtue too generously given. It was futile to assume that, just because Severus Snape willed it so, the Siren would lose some of her maddening allure. Even as he slipped away from the door and approached the Master and the ward, he found himself loathe to tear his eyes away from the latter. Lucius was watching him with a bemused, detatched expression, as though Severus himself were a beetle with particularly shiny wings – one that he wanted to watch for a bit before smashing with his heel.

"So good of you to join us, Severus," said Lucius in a tone that proclaimed warmth but promised treachery.

"And on such short notice," Snape countered dryly, having finally deigned to focus on Lucius' pale, sharply angled face. The Siren remained mute, staring down at her plate with an expression that, when Severus chanced a wayward glance, resembled something like wordless despair. Part of Snape's conjecture about the purpose of Malfoy's invitation seemed to be accurate; the girl was trussed up like a prized peacock on display. She wore robes of deepest royal blue, and the vibrant color coaxed the cobalt highlights from her hair – which was, at present, swept into a twist that left the nape of her neck bare. Severus spotted a velvet choker hugging her throat, and from the center gleamed a sapphire as large as matchbox. It reminded him most inappropriately of a slave's collar.

"She's beyond words, isn't she?" Lucius drawled suddenly. Snape became accutely aware of how long he had watched the girl without speaking. "Please, sit. Make yourself comfortable," Lucius added as an easy afterthought.

Snape sat, suddenly wondering how his watery knees had held up this long.

"A child," he spat, feigning nonchalance. "And an impertinent one at that." Iphany wasn't known for her exemplary behavior in class. In fact, if he didn't already know that there was neither face nor form that could imitate the Siren's, he would swear that Lucius had replaced her with an impostor. This girl was drawn, morose, staring down at her plate as though the very act of concentration could will her away from her present surroundings.

"All children are impertinent," replied Lucius, gazing at the girl with something that looked like a tincture of disdain and condescending fondness. "Unless you know how to handle them."

"Yes, that must be why Draco's so well behaved," Snape offered humorlessly. Lucius chuckled.

"You and your desert wit," he said, still gazing at the Siren. There was silence for a moment, and then Lucius barked, "Iphany!"

She snapped to attention, her chin jerking up as if it were hung with puppet strings. A look of unspeakable terror lit in her glowing green eyes.

"Yes, Master Malfoy?" She answered. The melodic, husky timbre of her voice was gone, reduced to a pale whisper. She looked on the verge of tears.

"You haven't greeted our guest," Lucius said softly. Snape knew that tone – it sent an unwonted trail of ice from the base of his skull to his tailbone.

"Good Evening, Professor Snape," she said, almost inaudibly. Her eyes caught his for a moment, and he nearly wept for the pleading he saw within them.

"Now, Iphany," said Lucius, clearly enjoying himself, "I think you can do better than that."

"Good Evening, Professor Snape," she said again, swiftly, with a little more voice to support it.

"Good Evening, Miss Novara," Snape replied, forcing the apprehension out of his answer. _There,_ he thought quietly, _Now leave her alone._

But Lucius had other ideas.

"Iphany, I believe I've taught you better than that. Give your Professor a kiss, make him feel welcome."

_Bastard, _Snape thought wildly, and then _Oh, God._

Iphany's eyes went wide, and she looked up at Lucius as though she meant to dispute the order. Before Snape even had time to realize what was happening, he heard the resounding crack of a good, solid backhand to the mouth. Iphany reeled, stifling a sob, and lifted her hand to her lips.

"Come on, Lucius," Severus barked, quelling every urge to take the beautiful, miserable creature in his arms and take her far away from this monster of a man. _Oh, _said an insidious voice at the back of his mind, _as though you're any better. _"You can stop showing off. It's very obvious you've got her trained well. No need to resort to violence."

Lucius tsk tsked. "Living in the shadow of that venerable old moron has weakened your will, old friend. Your morale is sickening."

"Well," said Snape acidly, "I won't be the one who has to explain split lips and bruises at the trial."

"Don't be dense, Severus," Lucius snapped, clearly offended. "Do you think I'm so careless? There's more to magic than pastes and potions. Healing charms, I've heard, are rather effective."

Snape made a move to reply, but Lucius was already back on Iphany's case.

"Up!" he barked. "And stop your sniveling."

Snape ground his teeth at Lucius' tender choice of words. Iphany, in the meantime, was on her feet and rounding the table. Lucius stopped her halfway 'round and glanced over to Snape.

"Compliance," said the golden haired wizard as he ran a hand over the curve of the Siren's thigh, "Is always the wisest course."

Severus tried and failed to ignore the blatant shame and trembling disgust writing litanies across Iphany's features.

Lucius gave the girl a swat on the bottom that sent her over to Snape's side. Severus swallowed a lump as her small hands settled on the arm of the chair.

"Just a moment," said Lucius lazily. "Are you wearing the charm?"

Mutely, and trying to look bored as opposed to trapped, Snape nodded.

"Remove it."

"Is this really-"

"Do it, Severus."

Lucius watched with ill-supressed glee as Snape unfastened the golden chain and set the necklace on the table in front of him. Then the elder Malfoy nodded graciously at the Siren.

Severus held his breath like a man waiting for the plunge into icy waters. He felt the Siren's breath on his cheek before her lips touched his sallow skin, felt the tremble pass through her as she followed her orders.

The Potion Master's world narrowed in a heartbeat, focused solely on the sudden, unbearable heat that started at his cheekbone and set a fire in his groin. On the back of his tongue he thought he tasted salt and sealillies. Was it his imagination, or did her lips linger for a moment too long?

Imagination it must have been, for the moment he felt her step away from him, his body protested the brevity of contact. He looked down and saw that his hands were clutching fiercely at the violet tablecloth. He felt like screaming, and more importantly, he felt that if he didn't touch her again within the next moment, his entire exsistence would fade into obscurity. With trembling hands and an ill-begotten thread of logic, he snatched the amulet from the table and managed to fasten it about his neck again.

It did not provide complete relief, but he found that he was able to see again, and his thoughts were not consumed by flashes of skin and sweat.

By the time Snape was fully recovered, Iphany had taken her seat and was staring again at her empty plate. Lucius looked like a man who'd just made a deal that wasn't going to cost him anything.

"Now," he said, "Wasn't that pleasant?"

"Merlin's _balls,_" Snape cursed, unable to control himself. "Why did you do that to me?"

"Because," said Lucius, feigning hurt, "I wanted you to feel welcome."

"Oh, come off it," Severus spat, finally regaining some measure of sense. "Why did you bring me here, Lucius?"

The surprise on Lucius' face did not look fabricated. He appeared genuinely taken aback. When he spoke again, his tone lacked sarcasm, though the hint of a smile seemed to thread beneath his words.

"You said you wanted to talk about Icarus' trial. You wanted to know what the Dark Lord had advised on the matter. I simply acquiesced to your request."

Snape looked quickly to the girl when Lucius mentioned Voldemort and raised a cautionary brow. Lucius waved his hand through the unspoken question.

"She knows enough," He said, offhandedly. "She made the mistake of voicing her disapproval once. But she knows to keep her pretty little mouth shut." He peered more closely at the Siren. "Doesn't she?"

"Yes, Master Malfoy," she answered automatically, never daring to lift her eyes from the plate.

"Very good," said Lucius warmly, turning his attention back to Snape. "I will explain the plan in detail over dinner."

At his unspoken command, the empty plates before them blossomed with food. Severus found that his appetite was meagre, despite the fact that he hadn't eaten since breakfast. Still, he knew better than to slight Lucius' hospitality, so he lifted his golden fork and speared a sizable bite of vegetables.

"So," said Lucius, as lightly as if they were discussing cauldron prices or new brooms, "We simply cannot have the girl say that her father didn't try to rape her. There were too many witnesses. And that, in and of itself, is unfortunate. It will be her testimony that sends him back to Azkaban."

"He killed that Muggle," Snape countered, matching Lucius' bouyant tone.

"There's no solid proof. Once Icarus got his senses back, he demanded to know on what evidence the Ministry based their accusations. The wizards that investigated the Muggle's death were called to question, and they admitted, with some reluctance, that the only way they knew it was Icarus was the fact that there were no other registered wizards living on that dreary little island."

Snape was fighting to keep his eyes on Lucius. They drifted towards the Siren of their own volition.

"Well, that certainly isn't irrefutable," Snape said, as though he were agreeing to a well-put point. Lucius watched him wage an internal battle between propriety and lust; a battle he knew all too well.

"It certainly isn't. So now the only crime he's formally charged with is attempted rape, and all of that hinges on her –" he jerked his thumb towards Iphany, "Testimony. As much as the Dark Lord would like to have Icarus free to aid us at his will, the Wizengamot isn't going to believe one half-human girl over the word of ten or twelve aurors. They're going to think she's trying to cover up for her father." Lucius rolled his eyes dramatically. "And we just can't afford that kind of trouble."

"That's logical enough, I suppose. Unfortunate, but logical." Severus, in an attempt to distract himself, began violently stabbing at the items on his plate and thrusting them uncerimoniously into his mouth. He only paused long enough to take huge gulps of wine from the self-replenishing goblet before him. Lucius, in his good humor, pretended not to notice.

Just then, a House Elf appeared, trembling, at Lucius' elbow.

"Oh, what?" Lucius snapped. "Haven't I told you not to disturb me when I have guests?"

"Yes, sir, Master Lord Malfoy, sir, but there is an urgent summons for you in the parlor." The Elf was trembling so violently that Snape swore he could hear the filthy creature's bones rattling together.

"So urgent," said Lucius through gritted teeth, "That you had to interrupt my dinner?"

"Sir, it is You-Know-Who."

Lucius leapt out of his chair, alarm in his pale pewter eyes.

"Idiot," he snarled, "Why didn't you tell me?" He snapped his gaze momentarily to Severus. "Stay. I will return."

As Lucius swept behind her chair, Iphany flinched as though she were expecting another blow. Severus felt her terror sharply, as if it were his own, and knew that it did not subside until the grand doors slammed shut and Lucius was gone. He allowed himself the luxury of watching her for a moment; her shoulders wilted and her head dropped and she left out a shuddering, broken sigh. Her pain seemed so private, so intimate – Snape felt guilty for witnessing it.

_Now, _he thought bleakly, _would be the perfect time for Occlumency. _

At this point, however, he knew that it was accutely unneccesary. He did not need that particular power to glean the truth about Iphany's relationship with Lucius. If this was how he treated her when guests were around, he could not imagine the elder Malfoy's behavior behind closed doors.

After a moment of deafening silence, he said –

"You're still bleeding."

Iphany jumped at the shock of being spoken to. She glanced up at him, her eyes wild and unfocused, her shining underlip atremble and still glistening with scarlett. She looked nearly feral in her fear, her utter horror.

"You're his friend," she whispered.

It was too risky to deny; Malfoy Manor, it was said, heard as keenly as its Master. Instead he took out his wand, ignoring the Siren's skittish start. He whispered something, the tip of his wand glowed red, and he touched it gently to her mouth. In a moment the furrow in her lip healed, and she was gazing at him in a mixture of hope and trepidation.

Though she was on the verge of tears, Severus didn't _actually _expect her to start crying. He had little experience with tears, so when she crumpled and let out a muffled sob, he froze like an animal caught in a trap.

"He's…he's…he's so awful, Professor. Can't you…I can't leave, he said if I tried to get away or if I told Dumbledore he'd find me and…and…"

Severus could hardly understand her garbled speech, but he tried to answer anyway.

"Child…"

She looked at him. Somewhere in his body, his soul expanded, thrilled by her gaze, held fast by the wanton fragility in her stare.

"_Please…_"

And he didn't know what made him rise out of his chair and go to her. He knelt before her and took her hands. Before he had time to register this serious error in judgement, the first tremoring thrill of arousal coursed like liquid ice and racing fire through his veins. He was filled with the scent of her, so what could he do but comply when she slid out of the chair and wrapped her arms around his neck? Like a promise, and like his wandering eyes, his arms also seemed to be beyond his control. They wrapped her tightly, inexorably. She couldn't possibly be breathing – he held her so tightly. Never once did he think or question. It was about _this, _and _now. _

So he pulled back, cleared the hair from her forehead, and kissed her. Thoroughly.

And she responded. Thoroughly.

…

"_Ron," _Hermioned hissed.

"S'justa scratch, mum," he responded blearily.

"_Ron! Get up!"_

"I said it, 'n th' toast is burning," he replied, stuffing his face in his pillow.

Determined, and not in the least apologetic, Hermione put one hand over his mouth and pinched his arm viciously. He awoke with a stifled yelp.

"Don't say a word," she whispered fervently, removing her hand. Ron looked as though he wanted to say _several _words, but the look on her face silenced him, at least for the time being. She stood and made for the door, beckoning for him to follow.

He followed. She led him into the hall and half-way down the stairs. Ron noted that her eyes were positively glowing with excitement or fury; with Hermione, it was often difficult to tell the difference.

"What's going on?" he asked, careful to keep his voice at a sibilant whisper.

"_She's not human,_" Hermione crowed. Ron had the distinct impression that he was still dreaming.

"What?"

"Iphany! That's the reason Harry's so unnaturally in love with her. It's the reason Professor Snape can't talk straight when she's in class. It's the reason she disappears every night."

"What. Are. You. Talking. About." Ron seethed, now recognizing that look in his friend's eyes – it was the light of new discovery.

"Shh!" She said frantically. "Harry's in the common room."

"He's not," Ron scoffed. "He's in bed."

"Did you look? He left after you all fell asleep. He _can't _sleep."

"Neither can I, apparently. If you don't tell me what's going on, I'm going back to bed." He was livid, but he lowered his voice for her benefit.

"Iphany's not human. She's a Siren. I had a feeling…oh, it was nagging me all this time – the signs were all there! She can't tolerate meat. She puts _salt _in her water, did you ever notice?" Hermione would have continued if Ron hadn't interrupted her.

"Hermione, Sirens aren't real. Are you this obsessed? I'm worried, too, I am, but that's no reason to-"

"How do you feel when she looks at you? When you make eye contact?"

This question caught Ron off guard. He blushed to the roots of his hair.

"Uhm…"

"Honestly."

"Well…sort of like…I want…to…tk ffall erclosendothngs to her."

"What?"

"Oh, don't make me _say _it," he said mournfully. To his chagrin, Hermione was grinning.

"See? She's a Siren. She leaves every night because she has to swim and sing. Every time she touches Harry, he flinches – not like it hurts, though. Like it feels so good that it…well…you get the idea," she said, hurrying through the last bit. "Her appearance – she's almost otherworldly looking. And it explains…oh, it explains _so _much, Ron! She's got to be working for You-Know-Who! She's seducing Harry on purpose to lead him to the Dark Lord!"

"Hang on," said Ron. He paused for a long moment. "Are you…sure?" It seemed a lame way to finish, to admit that he had absolutely no way of proving her wrong. After all, she'd never been wrong before.

"Positive." Hermione grabbed his hand. "Come on. We _have _to tell Dumbledore."

"He knows," Harry said, stepping out of the shadows to greet them. "And so does Snape and Filch and Renaud and Flitwick. They wear charms to ward off some of her power."

For once, Hermione could think of nothing to say.

"You're _terrible _at whispering, Ron," Harry continued. He did not look angry – he looked tired, lovesick, and a little relieved.

"Dumbledore knows?" Hermione asked finally, when her mouth decided to cooperate.

"He's known from the beginning. I've known from the beginning. They told me before she even got here."

"Why?" Ron asked. Harry shrugged indifferently.

"To warn me, I guess. They thought the same thing you did. That she might be working for Voldemort-"

Ron made a sound like a hiccup and a gasp-

"- and that she might try to turn me against Dumbledore or lure me to him."

"Harry," said Hermione tenatively, "Don't get mad…but it seems like that's _exactly _what she's doing."

"No," said Harry, with all the self assurance in the world. "It isn't. Believe me, Hermione. I _know _her. And Dumbledore trusts her."

Hermione felt as though someone had popped her with a pin and all of her elation and hope had burst out with a sad, dithering hiss. Even in the darkness, she could see the blue-grey shadows under Harry's eyes. They looked like bruises.

"But don't you see," she said softly, "Now you can't live without her. You can't even _sleep._"

"I know," Harry said simply. "And I don't care. I love her."

"But…" she trailed off. There was nothing to say. Ron was still staring alternately at both of them, as if he were trying to decide whose side he was on. Hermione felt the threat of tears looming like an inevitable doom. She realized that there would be no reasoning with Harry. He was too far gone. It was too late. Even if all of her assumptions were incorrect, and Iphany was merely a consequence of birth – Harry would never be the same. Hermione had gathered that much from her reading. Men who chose to love Sirens could only last so long if they were parted. Older, more experienced men had an easier time of it, but in the end it all came down to the same thing. They _had _to be with their faery lovers, or they would die of pining and neglect. And a boy like Harry, who had never…

"Now that you've figured it out," Harry was saying, "Will you leave it alone? I'll be fine when she gets back. You'll see." He flashed them a watery, insufficient smile. Hermione tried to return it, but found she didn't have the strength.

"Yeah," said Ron absently.

"I will," Hermione replied.

"Thanks," Harry said, and then he wandered back down the stairs.

Hermione burst into silent tears. Ron looked mortified.

"Oh, Ron, this is terrible," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I know I'm right about her. And when I prove it…when she's caught and they put her away…"

Ron nodded, as if to encourage her, though he wasn't certain he really wanted her to continue.

"It's going to kill him, Ron. He's going to die."

…


	39. Motion

Song of the Siren: Motion

A/N: Finally got a new keyboard, so hopefully I'll be a tad more prolific. I think we –may- be nearing the end. Regardless, I'm not writing any more than FORTY FIVE CHAPTERS. After that, it's just ridiculous.

I'll admit that I really, really, really like reviews. Really.

Really. :D

/Motion/

Iphany appeared in the doorway of the parlor, shadowed and silhouetted by the smoldering coal-fire.

"Well?" said Lucius, rising swiftly from his chair. Iphany grimaced prettily and snatched the glass of brandy he was holding.

"I don't think," she said after a hearty gulp, "that you'll have to worry about him anymore."

…

Dumbledore waited for a long time before he tried to get Severus to speak. He could never recall, in all his long years of knowing the dour, unfriendly man, seeing him this badly shaken. Snape sat in an inappropriately puffy chintz armchair just opposite the Headmaster's own; his sloping, angular profile was softened somehow by a look that Albus had never known him to wear. The Potions Master was rarely anything more vexing than short-tempered with the elderly wizard, but Albus thought that he'd rather see Snape roaring around his private sitting-room in a terrible rage than sitting, mute, in wordless inactivity.

"Severus…"

"You were right," Snape said hoarsely. His voice sounded like it was coming from rough, hostile terrain on the other side of the world. "She's…she is what she is, she's a Siren, but…" He trailed off, shaking his head as though that would dislodge whatever images were rattling around in his brain. "She's not in league with You-Know-Who."

"How do you know?" Asked Dumbledore gently, tempering his words with gentleness, realizing by instinct that Snape was dangling by a hair-thin thread over the chasm of self-control.

"She…Lucius is…he's raping her," Snape finally spat the ugly words out of his mouth, supressing a shudder of memory and guilt. "He has her too terrified to speak in his presence. He's threatened her with torture and death if she so much breathes a word of his involvement with the Dark Lord."

"He told you this?"

Color bloomed in Severus' cheeks.

"No."

"She did?"

"Yes. He was summoned during dinner. He left me alone with her."

The implications of _alone _seemed to touch every corner of the small room. Albus heaved a sigh that sounded like it came from somewhere behind his heart.

"Oh, Severus…"

"I couldn't help myself," Snape said hoarsely.

"What did you do to her?" Albus asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Snape's shame was palpable, it rose in stagnant waves and seemed to almost make his skin glow. He lifted his eyes to the old wizard – they were glassy and moon-bright, as if with fever.

"It's Lucius' fault," he seethed. "When I arrived, he made me take the charm off. He made her kiss me."

"Severus," Albus said, in a voice like fingernails over glass, "What did you do to her?"

Snape looked up at him with something like loathing in his wild, suddenly inhuman gaze.

"I kissed her. And then I left."

_I fucked her, you son of a bitch._

…

"You. What."

"It's not like I had a choice," Iphany whimpered, struggling vainly under Lucius' iron, clenching hands. He had her pinned to the wall, his face was inches from hers. He was going to kill her. She was certain.

"You can cast the Cruciatus curse," Lucius hissed, "and you're telling me you didn't have any other choice?"

"Let me down," she said. Pleaded. "It happened too fast." She lowered her eyes. "He hurt me."

Lucius howled. He backed away from the wall, let her drop, panting, to the floor.

"I can smell him on you," He said softly, his eyes full of hate and passion and pain and love. "You little _slut._"

That was too much for Iphany. She burst into tears and covered her face with her hands.

"_You told me,_" She wailed. "You told me to do whatever it took. You made me kiss him! Don't you remember the first time I touched you? He couldn't help it."

"But you could," he said.

"If I'm so important to you," she whispered hatefully, "Then why do you treat me like a whore? You _made _me do it. I'm not strong enough to overpower a grown wizard. I didn't want to do it. It made me sick." She shuddered.

Lucius didn't answer. He knew she was right. But he'd thought…he never thought that greasy bastard would lose control completely. For a brief moment, he understood what kind of weapon Iphany could be. Voldemort was a fool.

Still, that did not rid him of the wrenching disgust twisting his guts – someone else had touched her. Someone else had been _inside _her, known the taste of her lips, the nearly painful grip of her arms at the moment of climax. He forced himself to look at her, though he focused on her shoulder rather than her face. He did not think he could bear her pained, pleading eyes.

"Did you enjoy it?" He asked, without malice or spite.

"He wasn't you," she said.

Lucius caught her eyes and opened his mouth to speak. She winced, as though expecting another verbal blow. Instead he knelt down, dragged her up, and crushed her to his chest. For a moment, the Siren's body was stiff, unyeilding, tenative to believe that he would not grab her poor bruised arms and introduce her violently to the wall again. Then, like a cloud dissolving against the gentle insistence of the wind, her resistance evaporated and she melted into his embrace.

"Forgive me," she whispered finally. Her throat felt as narrow as the barrel of a quill.

"Yes," he replied. And then again, as he brought his hand up and set it, trembling with supressed rage and impossible longing, on the back of her head. "Yes."

…__

"Well," said Dumbledore, "I suppose it could be worse." 

Snape let out a short, shrill bark of laughter.

"I suppose it could."

Dumbledore wasn't terribly keen on Snape's tone; it had the forced, rubbery tightness of a lie.

"Something you aren't telling me?" He half-asked, hating to doubt. Snape's head snapped up.

"Yes," he said evenly. "It was a very long kiss. I touched her inappropriately. And then with _great _difficultly, I pulled away and ran like a Muggle in Knockturn Alley. Once I was outside the gates, I Apparated to the Hogsmeade station. Is that enough? Do you want to know where I touched her? How it felt?" An edge of bitterness, sharp and cold, rested within the unsteady timber of his voice.

"Details," Dumbledore said gently, "Are beyond consequence." He paused, comtemplating the whirls in the wood of his ancient desk. "Did she struggle? Did you force her?"

This question, though expected, seemed to honestly puzzle the Potions Master.

"No," he said, a shadow flickering across his gaze. "Not at all." He lowered his head. "She responded."

Albus waited.

"With enthusiasm," Snape ground out.

"Interesting," said the old wizard. 

"I'm not lying," Snape said forcefully.

"I never said you were," Albus replied, countering with gentleness. Snape sighed, trying to shake off the tension that still clung to him like a corporeal ghost. Dumbledore let him have his silence and guilt for exactly thirty more seconds.

"You cannot be blamed," he said, a kind of sterness in his tone. "At least, not entirely. Lucius set you up for it; I wouldn't even be surprised if he staged the summons. He probably meant to catch you in the act of something a little more involved than kissing, but you left before he had time to return. As for the child,"

-Snape winced at his choice of words-

"She probably saw in you someone she could trust. Even if you were friends with Lucius, she must have sensed some manner of empathy from you."

"I healed her," Snape said quietly, looking down at his hands. "Malfoy backhanded her. Her mouth was bleeding. When he left the room, I healed her."

Dumbledore nodded. "You see, I think that, because of what she is, she cannot distinguish between simple kindnesses and acts of intimacy. She expresses her gratitude and appreciation in the only way she knows how. It does not seem wrong to her because it is _natural. _It is in her nature to use her considerable beauty to her advantage."

"It's not just that she's beautiful," Snape said, shaking his head. "When she touched me, it was…"

"Another side effect. That's why I told you to be careful."

Snape let his head fall into his hands. His skull felt like it weighed half a ton.

"I suppose that's why she took to Harry," Dumbledore was saying, more for his own benefit than for Snape's. "He showed her the first real kindness she had ever known. She attached herself to him because he had some inkling of what it was like to be treated as she must have been treated. He understood her."

"You're right, I'm sure," Snape said feebly. He couldn't stand Dumbledore's calm, ever-trusting presence anymore. It made him want to jump up and admit it all, the entire truth – that he had kissed her, yes – touched her, of course – and that he had then proceeded to clear the dishes and glasses from the table with one swipe, bear her onto the marble-sheen surface – and…and…

Dumbledore was still talking, but all Snape heard was the sound of his own pale hands ripping the Siren's robe apart in a single, fluid motion. Against his screwed-shut eyelids he saw her small, perfect mouth unhinged – and not in a scream of terror, but a low, throaty groan of pleasure. He felt her skin beneath his own, felt himself thrusting – so violently that it _must _have hurt her, through the haze he remembered her brows knotting in a moment or two of pain. His shoulders ached from the scratches she'd delivered. He tasted salt and lilies on his tongue. He was getting aroused.

"I need sleep," he muttered blearily. "I'm sorry."

He didn't wait for a reply. Like a man waking from a dream, he stumbled to the door and let himself out.

…

"Harry."

Silence, except for Neville's occasional senseless night time mutterings.

"Harry."

"What, Ron? I'm sleeping." He didn't sound like he was sleeping. Ron took his answer as a cue to scramble out of his own bed and over to Harry's, whereupon he yanked the canopy back and plopped himself down on the mattress.

"Hi," said Ron.

"…It's one in the morning, Ron."

"I know. I just wanted to ask you something." He peered closely at Harry's face, only able to make out the faint line of his face in the navy darkness. A long, impregnable silence followed. Ron picked intently at the comforter.

"Get on with it," Harry said, not unkindly. After he'd realized that Hermione and Ron knew about Iphany's background, he had resolved to treat them more civilly. In some dim and hidden place in his mind, he knew it was not their fault she was gone.

"Er," Ron said. "Don't…I mean, okay, say you never saw Iphany aga-"

"No. I won't say that, thank y-"

"Listen," Ron interrupted, a little more forcefully. He remembered the fight this afternoon and gathered up his courage. "Just say you didn't. Would you…what would you do?"

This time, the silence had a hostile feel, as though Harry suspected Ron of somehow making such a horrible hypothesis a reality. It took Harry a moment to talk himself down out of anger, but when he finally spoke, his voice held an undercurrent of suppression.

"I don't know, Ron. When I think of life without her, my mind goes completely blank. It's like what happens when you try to imagine infinity or think about where the sky ends." Harry paused for a moment, allowing his suspicion a recess to rear. "Why, are you planning on taking her away?"

"No," Ron said sharply. "It's just that Hermione said you would die without her. I wanted to know if that was true." He swallowed. "Harry, I don't want you to die."

Ron sounded like he was fighting a losing battle against a large knot of tears.

"I'm not going to, hey, Ron? Just…it'll be okay. Iphany will come back, and everything will be okay. I'm not going to die."

"You promise?" Ron asked thickly.

"I promise." Harry patted his friend clumsily on the shoulder. "Now go on, go back to sleep."

"'Kay," Ron sniffed. He gave Harry a smile that was lopsided and watery and then he slipped between the curtains and padded back to his bed. He hit the pillow and was asleep within moments, sufficiently lulled into a sense of contentment. Harry was going to be fine. He had to be fine. Hermione didn't know what she was talking about. Hermione was a busy body. She was…she…

From his bed, Harry heard Ron's first tenative, light snores, and he gave a shuddering sigh. He was damnably grateful that Ron hadn't thought to do a lumos spell so they could see each other. If he had, he would have seen that Harry was fully dressed, boots and cloak and all. His eyes bore a wild, unfocused glare, pupils so dialated that the bottle-green irises were all but invisible.

Harry waited another fifteen minutes. _Soon, _he thought tautly. Another fifteen; Ron's snores had reached a comfortable pitch. Just to be safe, Harry unsheathed his wand and tapped his boots, whispering an almost inaudible silencing charm. Then he slowly, slowly parted the curtains and reached under the bed to pull out his bag and his father's invisibility cloak. With a kind of stealth that would have made Mad-eye Moody proud, he donned the cloak and slipped the bag over his shoulder. He took a deep breath and tiptoed towards the door.

He was going to get his girl.


	40. Momentum

Song of the Siren : Momentum

A/N: The end is extremely fcking nigh.

Momentum

I wanted to run but she made me _crawl._

"The Sweetest Thing"

-U2

Arden grumbled and turned restlessly in her half-sleep, trying to block out the oddly out of place sound of footsteps thundering outside her door. The noise came in spurts; one-two-three students, two, then just one, then-

"Damnit all to hell," Arden cursed roundly, sitting up in bed and rubbing at her sleep-weary eyes.

Someone paused outside her door and knocked frantically.

"Bekahbekahbekah!" Came an unidentified voice. Arden gritted her teeth.

"I'm naked, go away," she shot back, flopping dejectedly back on to her pillow.

"McGonagall wants everyone in the common room _right now!" _Said the voice, and then the footsteps resumed. Though every muscle and bone in her body protested such unwarranted treatment, Arden planted her feet sullenly on the floor, pulled on a robe, and thudded out into the hall. The last thing she wanted was for that old Scottish biddy to come trouncing into her room; might as well appease her so she could go back to bed and sleep through breakfast.

_And,_she thought, _most likely Charms._ Arden really didn't care if Bekah Oberstein got through sixth year or not.

She heard the commotion in the common room halfway down the stairs. Her interest piqued, she joined the throng that started just a few feet up from the base of the steps.

_Wow,_ she thought mildly, _I'm a lot taller than these kids. _She could see over almost every head, save a few of the boys.One of the girls in front of her turned around, gave her a very peculiar look, and whispered something to her friend. Arden resisted the urge to do something unpleasant to the chattering second years, but quelled the instict as McGonagall started to speak.

"Your attention, please," She said, in a voice that was not shouting, but still resonant enough to carry to the back of the room. The older witch looked drawn, pinched, as though her sleep had been interrupted.

_Hey, _Arden thought sourly, _I know how that is. _More heads were turning her way now. What the hell were those little brats staring at?! She gave the nearest a murderous glare and then turned her attention back to McGonagall.

But the Professor was not speaking anymore. She, like most of the other students who sensed the whispers passing through the crowd, had turned to look at Arden.

_What the fuck? _Arden fumed, running an irritated hand through her sleep-tangled black hair.

Then it hit her.

Black hair. Taller than the other students. The looks.

She'd forgotten the Polyjuice Potion.

"Shit!" She exclaimed.

"Miss Lestrange," McGonagall said evenly. She didn't look tired anymore. She looked…sure.

"Oops," Arden said, "This is interesting."

Before anyone had time to react, she dropped to all fours and was staring up at the terrified students through slitted yellow eyes.

"A TIGER!" Someone screamed.

_Panther, you twit,_ Arden though, just before she sideswiped the screamer with one taloned paw and went charging through the crowd. The children were falling all over each other to get out of her way; in just a moment, a mass pandemoneum had ensued. McGonagall was shouting for order just as Arden ran sleekly past her. It took two rakes of her two-inch claws to reduce the back of the portrait to shreds, and then she was free, bounding down and down the stairs, around corridors that were perfectly familiar, past a few Professors who regarded her with eyes full of dimwitted incredulity. Just for fun, she trampled a seventh year who found himself in the wrong hall at the very, very wrong time.

She'd forgotten how much she enjoyed her Animagus. The speed and freedom were wonderful; it was a bit like flying, but more satisfying to feel the bunch-and-release of her powerful muscles, the lightning quick speed with which she could change directions, and the throaty, feral growl of her roar.

She so certain that her progress would go unhindered that she completely failed to notice that Snape had appeared at the end of the hall – the _last _hall, she was almost free – until it was too late.

There was barely enough time to register the unhealthy pallor of his sallow face before she realized that his wand was raised and pointed directly at her. Perhaps there was still time…she gathered speed and made to pounce on him, to rip him to-

"Stupefy!" He roared. She thudded to the ground in mid leap.

Her last thought:

_Shouldn't have gotten out of bed._

---

"Lucius," said Iphany softly. She was lying next to him, one arm over his bare chest, one finger barely tracing his bottom lip. His eyelids fluttered obligingly, but he didn't wake.

"Luuuuuucius," she said again, wiggling gently against him. He made a from-the-throat grunt and rolled over, drawing her to him in the quiet mire of sleep.

"Lucius, I can't breathe," she said, smiling anyway. She threw a leg over him and wiggled again.

He woke up.

"For Merlin's sake, girl," He said gruffly, rolling her over and pinning her wrists above her head. "You are insatiable."

"Mmhmm," she said, dropping her head back and shivering when his teeth scraped the column of her throat. "Good Morning."

"Indeed," He replied, releasing her wrists and turning his attention to the careful curve of her hip. He hooked one of her knees, drew it around his waist, found his way swiftly inside her and groaned.

Some time later, Iphany let out a sigh like the definition of satisfaction and turned to deliver a lazy post coital kiss.

"How'd you sleep?" She asked teasingly. He gave her a withering look and drew himself up to sitting against the headboard.

"I found myself," he said, tapping her forehead with one finger, "Constantly plagued by one of those worrisome night-faeries."

"Oh," Iphany replied, playing along, "The ones who seduce you while you sleep?"

"The very same. This one, I might add, was quite vocal."

"Oh, stop," she giggled, putting a hand over her mouth. "I was not."

Lucius shrugged, and with some difficulty, disentangled himself from her arms. "I'll get a Dict-o-Quill next time," he said absently, patently ignoring the way his silk sheets did absolutely nothing for the Siren's modesty. At this rate, they'd never get out of bed.

Iphany allowed herself the luxury of stretching out fully in the massive, four-poster bed. After the wretched twin at Hogwarts, she planned on enjoying the large bed (and its occupant) as frequently as possible. Not that she slept much – she'd had perhaps an hour last night – but if one had to be inert, it was preferrable to be so while in fine company.

Her mind drifted mutely over the last two days, wondering at how much could happen in such a short period of time. The predominant images to which her subconscious played host were those involving Lucius – it seemed silly to think of anything else, especially once she'd realized that nothing else mattered.

Interspersed, however, was the memory of Professor Snape. Iphany shuddered and clapped her hands over her eyes, as if this might drive the unpleasant thoughts from her mind. That, unfortunately, did not work.

She hadn't wanted him. Not at all, not in the slightest – it wasn't that he was horrible looking, though Iphany could easily tell he thought he was. She knew she'd been playing her part so well, she saw the pain in his eyes, the raw hunger…and something she hadn't noticed before. His inherent goodness. That, in essence, was the _most _unnattractive, because although Iphany wasn't fond of "goodness," she assumed that if a person decided to be good, they ought to decide and then stick to it. Snape was still hovering between a nature that reveled in debauchery and a desire to "do the right thing."

But that, in and of itself, wasn't what disturbed her so. What disturbed her was the fact that she'd…oh _hell_, might as well admit it – she'd almost _enjoyed_ the five-minute tryst on Lucius' dining table. She had…that same, shuddery, all-over but concentrated explosion of pleasure. It made her sick to think that she could feel such under anyone's touch but Lucius', but then she remembered something she'd read long ago, something she had been too young to understand then. Something about a Siren's nature, and how they are bound to feel pleasure no matter what the circumstance. That comforted her a little; at least she didn't have to worry about feeling too terrible guilty. Still…

_It's different with Lucius, _she thought evenly. _Because I love him. It could never feel that way with someone else. _That, she knew, was an absolute truth.

Having put that matter to rest, she slid out of the bed and went to join Lucius in the bath.

---

Harry shivered. He was colder than he ever intended to be. And he was standing outside the gates of Malfoy Manor.

The wind came whistling innocently from between the thick boughed fingers of the trees that flanked the gates, scattering the last of fall's clinging leaves across Harry's path. It had warmed up enough for the snow to start to melt, but it was still terribly cold, and Harry trembled from the swift aftershock of a tenative Apparition. He knew it wasn't wise to try and Apparate alone to a place one had never seen – but love-blind and heart sick as he was, the idea of being Splinched paled in comparison to spending another moment without Iphany.

It had been three days since he'd seen her. In that time, he had managed exactly fifty-three minutes of sleep, three bites of toast, and one and a half goblets of water. He'd had to fly from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade, because the No Disapparation field surrounding Hogwarts extended to the very edge of the wizarding village. Needless to say, the above combined with the stress of Apparating to an unknown location made Harry a very tired, very weak boy. His face had a look of suppressed terror, as though he could, at any moment, break out in a fit of screaming. Wide green eyes the color of a May emerald seemed too large for his sunken countenance, and the black brows that knotted in a perpetual frown gave him the appearance of one who is mad, but unwilling to fully submit to the sweet release that madness might bring. He looked, on the whole, like a half-grown man who was dying to fight for _something._ He approached the gates with an admirable caution – he wanted to storm the place, to bound in and carry his love out in his arms, and it was more than slightly dissapointing that he was not in possesion of a white charger on whom they would ride into the reluctant sunrise.__

Through the haze of determination, he surveyed the monstrous castle before him. If it was smaller than Hogwarts, it was only by a hair. There were four pointed towers that rose to varying heights from different sections of the manor; the highest of these dwarfed the tallest trees surrounding the estate. Harry idly wondered of what _use _a tower that high could be.

Perhaps it could be of use if one wanted to enter the castle unawares.

Harry swallowed a lump and mounted his broom. He had the Invisibility cloak rolled tightly under one arm and his wand firmly jammed into his back pocket. As he kicked off and felt the wind light in his hair, his heart tried to give its customary leap. Then her face swam before his eyes and there came a slicing pain directly through the center of his chest, cutting of his joy in an instant.

He thought he might circle the perimeter of the mansion, but as soon as he leveled out to hover where the iron spikes of the fence peaked, he realized the futility of that endeavor. The grating extended for what seemed like forever in both directions, and as far as Harry could see, there was no hint of a curve that might denote the boundaries of the property. What he did suspect, however, was that the wards that most certainly surrounded the estate were probably the strongest near the gates. If luck chose today to smile on the Boy Who Escaped, the ancient spells would be less potent the farther he flew from the main entrance. After all, the wards were really for show. No one in their right mind would be foolish enough to try and enter Malfoy Manor uninvited.

And at this point, Harry was most certainly not in his right mind.

---

The first thing Arden registered was the feel of something very cold sliding down her throat. She jerked; or, rather, she tried to jerk, but her muscles refused to cooperate. Her eyes flew open and she spat viciously, trying to clear her mouth of whatever foreign substance had found its way inside.

Snape stared grimly back at her. His office, Arden mused, reflected his personality most adequately. The walls were hung with dark green tapestries, all of the furniture was ebony wood, and there was no rug on the ancient stone floor. The fire in the hearth crackled meagerly; most of of the light in the room came from the candelabras that flanked the shaded windows. This wasn't the first time she'd been in here, either. Despite that fact that she'd been a Slytherin back in her grand old days at Hogwarts, she still managed to get herself into the kind of trouble that could not be overlooked. Even by her Godfather.

"Fancy meeting you here," she said drily. "Veritaserum?"

"Indeed," Snape answered.

"How long?"

"About ten seconds," he said, offering her a charitable nod.

"So," she said, shuddering wanly as the Veritaserum struck her gut, "I suppose this means you're not on our side."

"It does. But you knew that already, didn't you?"

"I did. Everyone knows, _Godfather._" Arden winced; this was the definition of _not good. _There would be no going back for her; no rejoining the ranks, no becoming Voldemort's official Half-Blood hunter. And it was all Lucius' bloody fault. For a moment, the entire world went an alarming shade of red, and then her vision cleared and she glared hotly at Snape. To his discredit, his face was paler than usual. Arden was glad, at least, that her news had had some effect on his composure.

"Very well. Where is Harry Potter?" He asked, steepling his fingers under his chin.

"I have no idea," Arden replied. Snape blinked; he looked oddly taken aback.

"Fine. What are you doing at Hogwarts, and why were you impersonating Rebekah Oberstein?"

This Arden didn't mind answering; she was perfectly exhausted with keeping Lucius' secrets for him. He couldn't get her into more trouble, she reasoned, than she was already in. Besides, this might change everyone's opinion about that pale faced little brat, Iphany.

"Iphany Novara Avada'ed Bekah the day after the Masquerade. Lucius summoned me to his house and made me drink Polyjuice so I could take her place."

"Iphany _killed _her roommate?" Snape demanded.

"That's what I said."

"Why?"

"Don't know. Lucius wouldn't tell me."

"Did she seem remorseful?"

"Not really," Arden snorted. "She threatened me."

Suddenly, the full comprehension of Arden's statement hit Snape squarely in the face. Iphany had killed her roommate, and she had sought Lucius for help. Not only _that,_ but that fact that she was capable of producing the deadliest and most difficult of curses said something extraordinary about her powers as a witch.

_And she had gone to Lucius for help._

"What is the nature of Lucius' relationship with Ms. Novara?" Snape asked tightly, wanting to believe…he felt ridiculous, but every part of him hoped that she had not lied…that he had not been fooled by a child…

"I'm not sure. He wants her, I know that much. I think she has a thing for him, but I can't be positive. All this summer Lucius made me take Polyjuice potion so I would turn into her, and then he'd fuck me." Arden grimaced; that was not a particularly pleasant memory.

And then she thought that Snape looked almost _sad, _for he had lapsed into a kind of gray silence, his eyes far away, his lips pursed in thought. Suddenly she grinned.

"Holy shit," she laughed, and if her arms had been free, she would have pointed one long red fingernail directly between his eyes. "You're in love with her, too!"

Snape started as if he'd been jinxed, and his expression turned immediately acidic. He straightened in his chair and regarded her vapidly, toying with the idea of cursing her soundly. _Just a little_, he thought, tipsily. _No one would know, and if they did, they wouldn't care, because she's a heartless bitch._

And then he got a better idea. He smiled.

"No, Arden. My feelings for Ms. Novara do not surpass anything beyond a mild physical attraction, that which I'm certain you can understand. She is, after all, a Siren." He paused, remembered her words. In love with her _too._

"Tell me," he said gently, as if docility would speed her reply, "Who else, pray tell, is in love with her?"

"Well, Potter, obviously," Arden answered. "Bekah was after her, too. She wrote all about it in her little journal. Dumbledore's soft over her, and Lucius is completely gone."

"I hardly doubt that Lucius Malfoy has the capacity to love anyone, much less someone he considers a Half-blood," Snape reminded her. Lucius Malfoy in love. He almost laughed out loud, and would have, if it weren't for the odd gnawing knot in the pit of his stomach. "What makes you think he's in love with her?"

"Well, most of the time when we had sex while I was pretending to be her, he was…gentle. Like…reverent, almost. I mean, he's rough, don't get me wrong, and he would get pretty out of control, which I'm sure you've witnessed…" –Snape shuddered, he remembered how Lucius used to be with women- "But the rest of the time, he was nice." Arden nearly choked on the words. Snape tilted his head and leaned slightly forward.

"Do you love Lucius?"

"Yes," Arden hissed, cursing the son of a bitch who invented Veritaserum.

"Where is Voldemort?"

"No one but Lucius knows his exact location." Though this question weighed more heavily on her sense of betrayal, she preferred it to the last. The degree of shame she felt for confessing the one thing she'd sworn never to say aloud outweighed anything she had ever experienced. Snape looked rather annoyed, however, at her answer. She smirked; Voldemort was smarter, he would _always _be smarter than the other side. Arden was well aware that Snape knew this.

"So how, then, do you come when he calls you?"

"I Apparate to a small pub outside of Bristol. There is a Portkey that takes me to Voldemort. It's a manor of some sort; a very, very old one. The ceilings are so high that you can't see where they end. That's the only part I've ever seen."

The Veritaserum was beginning to wear off. Arden could feel it; it was like someone was slowly loosing a hold on her brain. She licked her lips and gave her invisible bonds a tenative shrug. They still held fast, but if she played this right, if she could make him believe she was entranced for just a moment longer…

"Will you release me now? My back hurts," she said. Snape eyed her cautiously.

"Are you going to try and escape?"

"No. There's no reason. He'll kill me for betraying him, even if I was forced." She answered in the same clipped, slightly rushed tone that was the earmark of Veritaserum.

"Fine," Snape said. He seemed a little preoccupied anyway; Arden wondered how close she'd come to the truth when she'd accused him of being in love with the Siren. In the next moment, the hold-spell unraveled with a sigh, and feeling bled back into her muscles. It was then she realized that they'd been numb. Snape realized it at exactly the same time.

But he was still a moment too late.

She transformed as she lunged, flesh and clothes blending seamlessly into fur and ropy muscle. It was almost a thing of beauty; even Snape had to admit that. He saw her silver claws, her slitted golden eyes, and thought _where have I gone wrong _and then he thought no more.

Arden's Disillusionment charm saw her safely off the grounds. Though she would have preferred having her own wand, Snape's would do for the time being. She doubted he would be using it anymore.

The clock had just struck nine when she galloped into Hogsmeade, no more than slightly breathless from her trek. Only one person saw the sleek furred shadow grow and lengthen and draw itself up, but then the shadow whispered, and was gone, and the person wasn't sure they'd seen anything at all.


	41. Impact

Song of the Siren: Impact

A/N: Almost done. One more chapter and an epilogue.

/Impact/

Iphany rested her chin on the cold, curved ridge of the claw-footed bathtub. Lucius stood back from the mirror, examining the overall affect of his appearance.

"I liked the other one better," Iphany remarked, shifting to her knees as she propped her elbows on the rim of the tub. Lucius shot her a scathing glance that said something like _and what would you know, _but he shrugged off his blood-red surcoat, and exchanged it for the dark blue he'd been wearing a moment before.

"Better," said Iphany primly. She sighed and sank back down into the water, turned over on her back and floated face up, eyes trained on the carved ceiling. "I thought you didn't have a job. I thought you were too rich to need a job."

"I am," Lucius answered as he lowered himself into a chair opposite the mirror. "But in order to maintain my reputation as an affable member of the wizarding community, I must subjugate myself from time to time to those who keep the mirage of order in place."

"When really you'd rather just hex Fudge until his eyes pop out," Iphany offered helpfully. Lucius smiled wanly, watching her squirm around in the bathtub, catching a racy glimpse of a knee, then a shoulder, and the shining top of her sleek dark head.

"Precisely," he replied. "Are you ever going to come out of there? You'll wrinkle."

Iphany laughed wildly, but she rose from the tub all the same. Lucius averted his eyes; there was something almost sacred, almost holy about watching a Siren come out of the water. He felt like he was witnessing a slender moment of immortality, of something he would never forget.

_I believe we passed 'never forget' the moment she walked in this house, _Lucius mused.

"I don't wrinkle," she was saying as she pulled on his dark terry robe. It might have wrapped around her several times over, if she'd bothered to close it. "I'm _supposed _to be in the water."

Lucius wasn't exactly paying attention, so it came as quite a surprise when she dropped herself politely in his lap.

"Hi," she said.

"You're ruining my…"

"Do you have to go?"

Lucius found that it was extraordinarily difficult to think when one had a Siren nibbling at one's neck.

"Yes," he said. "I mean, no." His hands drifted to her waist, then to the open folds of the robe. He sighed and pushed aside a dripping lock of her hair, skirting the seashell curve of her ear. His fingers paused, and he made her cant her head to the side. A frown furrowed the dark line of his brow.

"What on earth is this?" He asked, gently fingering three flesh-colored slits of skin behind her ear. Iphany colored and covered his hand with her own.

"Oh," she said, "Uhm…gills?"

"Gills?" He laughed, and he pushed her hair back again to see.

"Stooop," Iphany groaned, slapping his hand away. "It's embarrassing!"

He caught her hand at the wrist and glared darkly at her. She returned the expression without fear. Lucius grabbed her other hand and pinned them both behind her back. She arched wildly, making some small noise of protest, although it was clear the attempt wasn't meant for escape. Lucius released her wrists and drew her down and kissed her fiercely, hands seeking purchase on her still-damp skin. He gripped her hips and she sighed like music, the sound coming from her throat.

Neither of them noticed Harry until after Lucius had torn the robe from Iphany's shoulders and pushed her violently against the counter.

"Ow," she offered.

"Shut up," he said.

"Stop," Harry whispered.

---

"What I want to know," said Iphany crossly as Lucius laid the Stupefied boy out on the divan next to his bed, "Is how he got in here." Iphany wasn't particularly upset that Harry was there, only that they'd been interrupted. Lucius, on the other hand, was appropriately vexed enough for the both of them.

"The wards on the ground are old," he said tightly, stepping quickly back from Harry's inert body as though he expected him to catch fire or something equally distressing.

"Well," she huffed, plopping down on the sofa. "Now what do we do with him?" She pulled a grimace and shoved Harry's leg in belated anger.

"I'll have to contact Voldemort," he said. "I know what he's going to want to do."

Suddenly Iphany's body went curiously cold, as if the warring winter wind had somehow found a secret crack beneath the window and was now racing around the room.

"You…he won't need me anymore. At Hogwarts."

"Yes."

"Don't tell him yet," Iphany said, rising from the couch. "Please, _please._"

"I have to," Lucius replied hoarsely. "You don't know what he would do to me if he had to find out on his own."

The Siren hovered for a moment. Lucius prayed to whatever gods were listening that she wouldn't cry. She spared him some of that disgrace by fleeing the room and slamming the door.

Lucius did not waste any time, because he was quite aware that if he didn't act now, he was in danger of snatching her up and disappearing into the wide mouth of obscurity. He would find them, but wouldn't it be worth it for a while? Just…

But he'd already thrown the floo powder into the fire, and tossed the small silver rune through that served as a summons. Voldemort appeared after only a handful of moments, looking somewhat put out.

"What is it, Lucius?"

"Harry Potter followed her here," He said without preamble. He felt hard and edgy, like his bones were shards of metal poking around beneath sandpaper skin.

"Interesting," said the Dark Lord, as if Lucius had merely told him that, finally, after months of waiting, scarves were back in style.

"What should I do?"

"We carry out our original plan," said Voldemort. Lucius heaved a silent sigh; it would be a month, perhaps two…

"Except we move it up to tomorrow."

"Of course," Lucius replied. He felt hot behind the eyes.

"This really is rather convenient, you know. Write the Ministry and tell them that Iphany has disappeared as well. It makes sense; people will merely think they are two lovers run off together. And, if Iphany doesn't testify, they'll have to let Icarus go."

"Killing several birds with one hex, or so it would seem," said Lucius. Voldemort smiled.

"Just keep him in the dungeon for tonight. I will need time to arrange for the coming of my new consort, as well as the entertainment that will proceed the consumation of our union. I've always fancied that tear harness you have…do you think Potter will…Oh, never mind. I'll decide later. Goodbye, Lucius."

"Tomorrow, then?"

"Yes. Early. Say…seven? You know how to get them through."

"Yes, my Lord."

"Good. Until tomorrow."

Tomorrow. Less than twenty four hours. Less than…

He heard Potter stirring on the divan and he sighed, and hauled himself to his feet, feeling older than forty two.

"Stupefy," he said negligently, and Harry fell still again. Lucius snapped his fingers and some non-descript House Elf appeared.

"Take him to the dungeons," He said. The Elf nodded, skittered over to Harry and touched him, and both were gone.

- - -

Snape swam through the mire of unconsciousness, and he dreamt of the ocean. Sometimes he saw her; (or was it her), because this face was older – not older, the same, but with eyes a darker blue…

_He's coming 'round, _said the starbright sky in a voice that sounded like someone he knew.

If he could have stayed forever on that moonlit beach…watching the Siren come closer…

_Severus._

_Severus._

"Severus," said Dumbledore. "Open your eyes."

Snape obeyed, and opened his eyes to see the white world, but he found it less pleasing than the one he'd been forced to leave. So he shook his head and endeavored to go back, seeking the pale Siren in her endless sea. Dumbledore's gentle voice waxed hard, tugging him back like a rope around the middle.

"Wake up now, Severus."

Snape had every intention of shouting, but he parted his lips against a slicing pain and found himself without a voice.

"Don't try to speak," warned Dumbledore. "Your throat has been torn out."

Next came Madame Pomfrey's worried, roundish face, her crinkly gray-brown eyes narrowed expectantly.

"It's not torn out any more," she said softly, pressing her thing fingers against the tender skin she'd expertly stitched. "It took magic and thread and the Headmaster's impeccable timing, but you will survive."

Snape struggled to sit up, fighting the dull brown ache in his throat, and the swifter agony that flared brightly across his cheeks. One eye saw clearly, while the other viewed the world through a thin red haze, as though someone had placed a scarlet lens across his pupil.

"Arden," he mouthed. Dumbledore nodded and handed him a sheet of parchment and a quill.

Snape scrawled a single, shaking sentence across the paper.

Dumbledore read what he'd wrote, sighed, and shook his head.

"No. It's not likely. Madame Pomfrey did well enough to save your life, but the worst of the damage was done before I could get you here. Ms. Lestrange meant to kill you so you would not speak against her, but in her haste she did the job rather poorly."

Snape snatched the parchment back and wrote in furious shorthand:

_Iphany killed Bekah. Lucius sent Arden to replace her. _

Dumbledore read the note with an expressionless furrowing of his bushy white eyebrows. Despite the old wizard's well-schooled impassivity, Snape thought he saw a passing flame of sadness sputter across his eyes.

_I know, _Snape thought grimly. _I didn't want to believe it either. _

After a moment, Dumbledore folded the note, slipped it into his pocket, and set his gaze back on Snape.

"Did she tell you where Harry was?"

Snape shook his head.

"Or where Voldemort is hiding?"

Another emphatic no. Dumbledore tried to keep the dissapointment from creeping into his wizened features, but Snape caught it there anyway, and he felt like a colossal failure.

"It's not your fault, " said Albus, responding in the curious way he had that made one think he might be mind-reading. Snape tried to give face to a grim smile, but found that he hurt too much, for the pain cracked and fizzled in narrow bolts across his face. He gestured for the quill and paper again, and wrote:

_How bad is it?_

Dumbledore shrugged.

"You're as handsome as ever, Severus," he said keenly.

_I would search Iphany's room, _He wrote upon receiving the paper again.

"We will," Albus assured him. Madame Pomfrey bustled away, off in search of whatever interesting bits of healing she was wont to unleash on Snape. Dumbledore watched her progress and folded his hands.

"I was fooled," he said softly, something like regret and amusement coloring his tone. "I've heard that I know everything that goes on in this castle, and forgive my pride, but I began to believe it. I should have trusted you, Severus. Ms. Novara…was and was not what she seemed."

Snape felt a stab of guilt as fierce as the pain in his throat, and he took the quill again.

_Don't trust me, _He wrote. _I lied to you. It was more than a kiss._

Dumbledore read the note and smiled.

"Oh, old friend," he said kindly, "I knew that."

- - -

Lucius didn't have to look far to find the Siren. She was curled up in the fat armchair next to the library hearth, knees drawn to her chest, her brilliant gaze soft and staring. He went to her carefully, for she was undisturbed by the sound of the opening door, and he wondered if perhaps she would start or scream or do something equally silly once she recognized his presence. He made it a few yards from the chair before realizing that she was going to do nothing of the sort.

"It's time now," she said, and her voice was a hollow wind off the sea. "You've come to collect me. I am ready."

"No," he replied. "Tomorrow morning. Early."

Her utter stillness was unnerving; he remembered her vibrance, the subtle gleam of power that seemed to glance off of anything she touched, the way her mouth moved like a pair of red petals in tandem with a breeze. He saw none of that now – only a bitterly breathaking shell of beauty. _I have done this to you, _He thought. _And for that I am sorry._

"Tell me you love me," she said, startling him out of his guilt.

Lucius felt a dull ache in the place behind his ribs, the place where most supposed he had no heart.

"Iphany-"

"Say it," she said, the feeling creeping back into her voice. Lucius was silent, but his mind whirled in fury at the word, that damnable word – _you do not know what that means, you cannot love her, you have no heart-_

"Say it, Lucius," she said again, rising from her seat as color bloomed in her cheeks.

_I love you as certain dark things are to be loved – in secret, between the shadow and the soul_

Lucius stared at her, his mouth would not move, he would not budge. He could not.

"Coward," she said softly. "You're a coward."

His nostrils flared briefly, if anyone else in the world had dared to speak so to him, they would be flayed alive. He watched her, for a moment he saw the Siren instead of the girl, the wild thing that should never have been tamed. The empty place in his chest throbbed again.

But still he said nothing.

"Get out," she spat. He had never seen her this angry. "Bastard. _Bastard." _Her pitch began to slide up, threatening a scream, which Lucius felt certain he could not handle.

So he got out, slamming the door on her hopeless wail.

- - -

"You're certain," said Voldemort. His eyes gleamed like slanted rubies in the firelight.

"As certain as I've been about anything in my life," said the voice roughly, hoarsely from the platform. Blood stood in sizable pools beneath the table.

"If you're wrong," he said lightly, passing his wand over the bonds that held her, "I'll take the other hand."

"Yes," she said, struggling to sit up, wincing at the sight of the mangled remains of her right hand. "You are gracious, My Lord."

"I know, Arden," he replied.

- - -

Cursing her weakness, Iphany slipped through Lucius' door. It was well past midnight, but he was awake, fully dressed, facing the window when she entered, and though he gave no sound to acknowledge her, she saw his shoulders stiffen.

She did not speak, for she did not trust her voice, nor the words that it might carry. So she climbed on to the bed and knelt behind him, and she slid her arms around his shoulders.

He, too, seemed bound by the restrictions of sound, and so he lifted a hand to cover her own. She fought back the tears as he slowly turned, as though he were afraid of what he might see; a monster instead of a girl, a nightmare in the place of a dream.

Neither of them moved for a time, but Iphany held his eyes. It was she who brought their mouths together, tenatively at first, they kissed like new lovers, and Lucius seemed almost hesitant as he lay her on the bed.

And still not a word passed between them. He slipped the robe from her shoulders, fingers grazing gently over skin still damp from her swim. She pulled him down and kissed him again, and there hovered behind that meeting of mouths such a trembling note of passion that he felt momentarily and ridiculously frightened. The energy and unbridled pleasure he felt from contact with her too-warm flesh seemed distant, like a side-effect, for it paled beneath something else, something he knew he was too weak to say. Iphany shuddered as he covered her with his body, knowing this was different, knowing this was real.

And for the first time, Lucius Malfoy made love to the Siren.

- - -

Iphany had no intention of falling asleep, but sleep she did, hopelessly tangled in him, wondering as she drifted into nothingness where he began and she ended, and if she even ended at all.

The dream-beach stretched out before her in a familiar tableau, so real that she felt the spray of the waves bathe her face as she approached the slender figure.

"Mother?" She asked, but even as the word left her lips she knew it false, for though the sadly smiling face that greeted her looked like Ilia's, the eyes told a story of time beyond measure.

"No," said Otilde.

"I want to be with him forever," Iphany whispered. Otilde stroked her cheek; Iphany turned into the warm palm and felt loved.

"You shall," said Otilde, "You shall."

Together they walked the shore, singing sometimes, always handclasped. The sun remained at a perpetual dusk, throwing gold to glitter across the endless sea, bathing the Sirens in perfect light. Iphany was at peace.

"Wake now," said Otilde after the endless night, the swift-rising day. "And meet your fate with grace."

- - -

A shadow moved in the heart of the manor. Iphany's amulet, the Portkey to Hogwarts, clattered to the floor from an unseen hand.

Iphany woke, and saw that Lucius was ready, sitting in the chair by the bed, decked in his all-black Death Eater robes. He looked, Iphany thought with a sudden and inappropriate burst of amusement, like Death.

"It's time," he said.

"I'm ready," she replied, and this time she meant it.

"Don't be afraid," he offered uselessly. She smiled like a break in the clouds.

"I'm not."

The shadow paused outside the door, listening.

Lucius let her dress, wisely averting his eyes, for this morning there could be no distractions. She asked him if she needed to change in to something more formal, and he told her no, that Voldemort would have something prepared.

She approached the fire, her means of transportation to Voldemort's lair. Lucius found her calmness astonishing – he felt like his stomach was lined with glass.

"Throw it in," he said, "And say _Edenreigh._"

"That's in Scotland," she offered helpfully. Lucius managed a tight smile. "And you?"

"I'll follow in a bit, with Potter."

Iphany nodded, and gathered a handful of Floo powder. Lucius almost flinched when she took his hand and squeezed it gently. She looked at him, gathered the details of his face and held them firmly in her mind. Then pitched the Floo powder into the fire, said "Edenreigh!" in a clear voice, and was gone.

Lucius stood at the empty hearth for too long before going to fetch Potter, so the shadow waited and waited. Once he was gone, the shadow crept in, hovered for a moment, and dissappeared with a pop and a sigh that sounded like _Edenreigh…_

And when Lucius swept through the parlor on his way to the dungeons, he saw the amulet, wondered where it had gotten to, and put in on with a grateful shrug.


	42. Shatter

Song of the Siren: Shatter

A/N: Apologies to Kim, because I lopped Arden's hand off without asking her. She's fixed now. I hope everyone is happy. :D!!

Stay tuned for the epilogue and final acknowledgements.

/Shatter/

Harry woke in a cell that smelled strongly of must and age. The darkness about him was so absolute that it felt almost warm as it weighed against his skin, closing in around the tiny cot where he lay. And, he realized grimly, to where he was firmly chained.

It was as silent as it was black, but the silence was alive, ringing faintly in Harry's ears with something like voices – or, a voice, one, her voice…

_Poor Iphany, _he thought miserably, reflecting on the memory of Lucius Malfoy's lecherous hands roaming her body, slamming her into the counter, heedless of the tender grace of her body. He'd heard her cry of pain, desperate, laced with fear.

It was the look on her face that he was having trouble placing. He shook his head slowly, trying to assemble the memories in some order, but he could only think of the cast of her eyes as she turned to see him, recognizing his face with something that could not have possibly been loathing.

_Nevermind that, _he scolded himself. He had to get out of here, wherever 'here' might prove to be. He had a faint, pale recollection of being removed through the dungeons at Malfoy Manor and pushed through the cool green brilliance of a Floo fire, but nothing more. Details fluttered about his head and taunted him mercilessly, like dreams forgotten just on waking.

With a mighty groan, he struggled to sit up. The chains that bound him were tightly fixed to his wrists and ankles, with just enough slack for him to crouch like a springing animal on the sagging bed. He tested their strength with useless fervor; they would not budge, and he suspected that they were charmed to boot.

Rather than save his strength, however, Harry threw his all into straining and gasping and throwing all his weight against his bonds. With each futile effort his despair and determination grew in equal; at the end of a minute he was sobbing like a child.

He stopped suddenly, but only because he heard a familiar, huskily musical voice drifting through the walls of the cell.

"Stop that, would you? You're giving me a headache."

"Iphany?" Harry whispered, rising to his knees, stretching his fingers up to the tiny round window that was an inch too far from his reach.

"Yes," she replied.

"I'll get you out of there," Harry said fiercely, all prepared to go to work on the chains again. Iphany's voice, cold, direct and without feeling, was what arrested his progress.

"Save it. You're going to need it when Voldemort gets his hands on you."

"Oh Iphany," Harry breathed, wishing with all of his sixteen-year-old heart that he could reach through the walls to stroke her hair, "He won't. We'll get out of this together, somehow."

Iphany laughed.

"Don't you _get_ it?" She scoffed, and he could practically hear her rolling her eyes. "I don't want to get out of here with you. I want to get out of –"

Footsteps undermined the acidity of her words, cutting through their conversation like wind through a fissure. Harry froze, but his stillness and refusal to breathe did not stop the metallic melody of keys in the lock. Not his lock, though. Hers.

"Who's there?" Iphany said sharply. She could not see a thing in the darkness, not even when the door opened. There was no answer, only a kind of muffled breathing, and heavily gloved hands touching her shoulder, turning her so something could be tied over her eyes and around the back of her head.

"What's the point?" She said, rather grumpily, "I can't see anyway."

"You leave her alone!" Came Harry's voice from the other cell.

"Shut it," Iphany snapped back, rising as the shapeless figure bid her with its hands. Harry made a sound like a whimper. "This is all _your fault, _you know," she hissed, her voice growing faint, but increasing in venom as she was led down the hall. "If it weren't for you, I could be with him!"

_With who, _Harry thought in bewilderment.

"With Mister Malfoy," came the familiar voice near his ear.

- - -

Even with the blindfold on, Iphany could sense the bodies around her. They shifted and moved, whispered, cast warmth and glances in her direction. She did not know if there were ten or a hundred of them, but she was certain she stood in the center of their circle, for the presence came from all sides. A chill unlike fear or cold crept the length of her spine with stealthy, unwashed fingers. Her stomach churned with anticipation. The humming talk grew louder around her for a few moments and then died in an instant as a new presence entered the room. Dark, slick, she could taste his power on her tongue, a flavor of bitter wine and blood. Like Lucius.

"Bring her to me."

Iphany was seized, hands hewn rough by nerve and fire. She turned her face blindly to her captor. Was it him? She thought she would have known by touch, by smell or footsteps, but she couldn't tell. Sightlessness did not heighten other senses, only made her feel slightly frantic and itchy. Not afraid, though. Not yet. He'd told her not to be, and she believed him. Tonight was a Great Becoming for Iphany Novara. And while her victory still buzzed in the air, she knew the trueness of her task was yet to come.

"She is beautiful, Lucius. You did not lie. Perfect, I would venture to say. Wouldn't you?"

At the sound of his name, Iphany stiffened. And when she heard his voice, her skin was hot again.

"Yes, my Lord."

Instinctively, Iphany turned to Lucius' voice. Her eagerness was noted by the presence hovering just before her. Lucius Malfoy flinched beneath his mask when he saw the Dark Lord's jaw twitch.

"Remove her robes." Voldemort watched in impassive silence as Lucius stepped forward. He lifted her curtain of raven blue hair and untied the simple white sheath, and his hands felt like memories against her skin. Lucius was briefly thankful that he had remembered to wear the amulet; otherwise the touch, the sight, the smell of her so close would have belied his involvement. As it were, he was beginning to feel trapped. Something was wrong.

Iphany shrugged out of the robe, unashamed as the ivory silk puddled at her feet. Lord Voldemort gave an appreciative sigh.

"She is worthy to be mine, don't you think, Lucius? She has proven herself loyal to our cause, bringing our greatest foe to our feet with a whisper. And she is...exquisite."

Iphany heard footsteps from both sides as Lucius backed away from her and the Dark Lord came forward. His hands were cold, as he cupped her breast with one and lifted her chin with the other. She felt a pair of lips cover her own, thin and sharp. Lucius tightened next to her, sucking in a breath that only she could hear.

At least, she thought...

"Lucius." Voldemort said smoothly, pulling away from Iphany, leaving the places where he'd touched her feeling almost...bruised, even though his hands had been gentle.

"Yes, My Lord?" For the first time, his tone was uncertain. Iphany began to feel the first tickling of real fear. He was nervous, and so with a great jolting suddeness, so was she.

"You fucked her, didn't you? " Voldemort asked, though there was little question in his voice. Iphany's stomach dropped as though she'd fallen from a broom. Lucius rushed to respond, stumbling fatally over his words.

"No, your greatness. I would never...I...I knew she was saved for you." He stepped forward so that he stood between the Dark Lord and his bride to be. Iphany was trembling, hidden behind him. She felt warmer in his shadow than she had in Lord Voldemort's hands.

"You lie. How many times, Lucius?"

"I swear to you, my Lord, I did not-" Iphany heard shuffling as someone pulled Lucius back, and someone else reached for her and untied her blindfold. She barely had time to register her surroundings - stone and ceilings so high she could not fathom their end. Vulnerability seemed more prevalent without the blindfold -- fleeting shadows surrounded her, still countless shapes brought to life only by the faint glimmer of firelight on the white masks. Lucius had been stripped of his and driven to his knees, where he was held by two other pale faced Death Eaters.

"I don't believe you." Voldemort rounded on her, and for the first time she looked on him fully. Her revulsion was hidden beneath calm eyes and steady breath, but inside she was weeping. Her chin held high, she faced the most feared wizard of all time with an easy, forthcoming smirk.

"Did you sleep with this man, Iphany?" He asked, his tone light and jovial. Lucius looked up at her, transfixed even in his final hour.

"No." She responded immediately. It was a struggle not to turn and meet Lucius' gaze. Lord Voldemort clucked reprovingly, drawing his wand out of his robe. He pointed it at her, and hissed;

"Priora corpeas."

A beam of blue struck her in the throat. She fell to her knees and clutched at the ground, and her voice was strained and passionate when she spoke again.

"Lucius..oh...God..."

Lord Malfoy sagged beside her, limp in his captors' hands. Lord Voldemort chuckled, reaching down to wrench the half-Siren to her feet. Her eyes were bereft of tears, but now she trembled in earnest, her throat dry and constricting with unshed sobs.

"You lied to me. You knew she was mine, Lucius. I did not think I had to tell you not to take her." Each of the Dark Lord's words were poison, darting from his fleshless lips to light on Iphany's naked skin.

"I'm...I'm sorry my Lord. I removed the necklace once...and I touched her...and...I could not..."

"I know, Lucius. You are weak, and she is a being of undeniable beauty. You could not help it. That is why I am going to spare you. Let him up." Voldemort replied, his voice almost consoling. The Death Eaters obeyed, and Lucius rose to his feet.

"Thank you, my Lord. You are most gracious." Lucius replied, bowing again and again as he turned to make his way back to his place in the circle. Voldemort stopped him before he could rejoin the ranks.

"Wait, Lucius. You must understand that I consider this little vixen entirely at fault. She must be punished, don't you think?"

"Ye--yes. Of course."

Tears finally stung Iphany's eyes. She turned to Lucius; he could not match her gaze.

"Death is appropriate, isn't it? She seduced you, decieved me...high treason."

"My Lord, if I may be allowed to say...I think..." He trailed off, unable to finish at the sight of Voldemort's glare. A thin smile crawled across the Lord's lips, and he sheathed his own wand.

"You do it, Lucius."

"My Lord, I--"

"Do it, or I'll kill both of you. Prove your loyalty to me or die."

Iphany squeezed her eyes shut when Lucius reached for his wand. She knew he could not chose her over his own life. It was a ridiculous thought. He took his place in front of her, his back to Voldemort.

"Look at him, Iphany." The Dark Lord commanded. Iphany shuddered and opened her eyes, tears gathering at an uncontrollable rate. Lucius' face was cold and emotionless as he raised his wand.

'I'm sorry," He mouthed, his words unseen to anyone but Iphany. She squared her shoulders and met his eyes. A soft smile touched her face as she remembered.

"Now, Lucius." Voldemort commanded sharply. Lucius drew in a deep breath.

"Avada..."

Iphany's smile did not waver, but Lucius' hand did, and it trembled violently, so much that the tip of his wand danced circles in his fingers.

"_Lucius," _Voldemort hissed, "Kill that whore or watch me _tear her apart._"

"Avada…"

_Do it, _Iphany thought, her resolve fluttering as fear took her again, making her see the horror in Lucius' eyes, the persperation gleaming on his forehead. _Don't leave me to him…_

Lucius closed his eyes.

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

It was over so quickly that it seemed almost anticlimactic, especially for one who had performed that curse too many times to count. There was a swift wind, a flash of green, and she was dead. Lucius felt nothing for a moment, and thought –

_That was easy._

And then there came a pain, a great, gasping, horrible pain in that _place behind his ribs where most supposed he had no heart. _Lucius pitched forward and landed on his knees next to her body, his mouth opening and closing like a fish dying on dry land. His mind roared with the voice of the sea and the sky, and with her quiet song, the breathy lullaby he'd heard in his dreams since the day she came to Malfoy Manor _a self-righteous girl with empty eyes, _and she was now a _silent smiling girl with empty eyes_

The entire room was still, watching Lucius Malfoy's fall from grace, his utter sorrow as he gathered the dead girl in his arms. As a whole, the circle had taken a step back, as if he were some kind of pariah with a weakness that was catching. The Dark Lord smiled, showing all his gleaming teeth.

"There, now," Voldemort whispered, in tongues of malice without regret. "You were right, Arden," He commented to one of the hooded figures, which presently stepped forward into the circle of sickly light, avoiding the corpse as well as the man without words who hovered above it.

"I was, My Lord," she said, not without a faintly characteristic touch of smugness.

Voldemort gave her the kind of smile one might give an indulgent child, and he unsheathed his wand, gesturing for her to roll up her pinned sleeve.

Lucius was still a thousand miles beyond the world, so he missed Arden's shrill laughter, but in the dim places beyond his grief he saw her flex her new right hand in triumph.

"Get him out of here," Voldemort's voice broke through the din of his mind. "I will deal with him later. Bring me Potter."

At that moment, several things happened at once. Two hooded Death Eaters stepped forward, prepared to drag Lucius to his doom. Arden sneered and pushed them back, proclaimed that she'd rather take care of him herself, if His Greatness would permit. The door flew open, and Albus Dumbledore charged in, parting the darkness with his wand, leading a band of twenty odd Aurors.

Lucius Malfoy performed an impossible feat of magic, and Apparated to the shores of Shallycob with Iphany in tow.

- - -

Perhaps it was some lingering bit of her own power, or an unrealized wish, or merely the might of the Sirens that changed the direction of Lucius' Apparation and allowed him to appear on the island, and with another person at that. In recorded history before or since, no wizard has been able to Apparate for two.

For whatever reason, fate or otherwise, he was facing an ocean at dusk, a sea that was so vast it blurred before his eyes. Feeling crept back into his limbs, reminding him of the weight in his arms. For a brief, glorious moment, he believed she was still alive, for the setting sun made fair shadows trick across her pale face, and he thought he saw her lips move.

Her eyes were open, but not in the custom of the Killing Curse, for there was no pain or shock or fear writing stories on her face. She looked at peace, waiting, he thought, for a kiss.

He might have stood there forever, become a part of the sand on which he stood, immobilized by his unspeakable sorrow. Might have, if it weren't for the three shapes rising out of the sea.

He tore his still-blurred eyes away from her face and looked up, his mind dully registering what his logic could not. Before he realized it, he was walking into the sea, bracing himself and his cargo against the small waves that broke around his legs.

Otilde, Alba, and Renali watched the man bring their sister to her rightful home, which had never been, and would now be her final place of rest, her peace from the world that broke her.

"He's…older than I thought," Alba commented as the man drew closer.

"Old enough to be her father," said Renali, not without a little scorn.

"Look at him," whispered Otilde, who was the only one with tears in her eyes. "He's barely alive."

To Lucius, this conversation was a meaningless series of syllables, mostly sung, mostly beautiful. He bowed his head as he reached the Sirens, awed by their beauty, which was at times terrible, then wonderful, then demure, now sad.

"She's done it, though," Alba said, a catch roughing her voice. "She's brought us the most powerful of men."

"He's not," Renali shook her head. "But to her, he was. He broke the spell and freed her heart. She loved him, and so she was blind."

Otilde could not abide by her sisters' pointless arguing. She stared at Iphany, unnerved by her serene smile, her open eyes. Then she looked to the man, who stared back at her without fear, his pale eyes pleading.

"We should end his suffering," she said, without breaking his gaze. "It isn't fair." _Besides, I promised Iphany they would be together._

For once, Renali agreed with her. "The old way," she said firmly. "Are you ready?"

"Wait," said Lucius, aware that something was about to happen. The Sirens flinched at his harsh, human voice, but were tempered by the pleading note within.

Lucius swallowed hard and transferred his gaze to Iphany's face, wondering why his vision would not clear. He blinked and felt the tears on his cheeks, mixing gladly with the ocean's spray. And even though the Sirens understood not what he said, they each felt a queer stirring in their hearts when he leaned down and whispered-

"I love you, Iphany."

Then he straightened, and the Sirens began to sing, quietly at first, then with growing fervor – he felt his soul come loose, gather in the center of his chest, the memory of her mouth on his, the too-few moments of laughter in her eyes, her bitter, angry tears, her song…

And a wonderful, painless sleep.

In the end, the ocean was kind to Her daughter, and Her daughter's love. Where there for a moment hovered two corpses, there was suddenly nothing, no evidence of their passing, no curious trinket to wash on shore and puzzle beach-strollers. The Sirens stood back, silent for once. It was Otilde who moved first; to Renali's surprise, she was grinning.

"Otilde," Renali said sharply. "What are you doing?"

Otilde had pulled away from the coven and was wading forward. Towards the shore.

"I'm going," she said matter-of-factly.

"You can't," Alba said. "We must stay here for the rest of our days, 'til we die like those wretched mortals. Now that the last Sirenchild is dead, you know what will happen."

"I certainly do," Otilde replied, pausing long enough to address her sisters. "And you two can stay here for the next sixty years or so and ponder the sorrow of your eventual demise, but I want to see what those _wretched mortals _are all about."

"Are you mad?" Renali shrieked, surging forward to grab Otilde's arm. "Iphany lived among mortals and look what they did to her! Look what they did to Ilia!"

Otilde merely smiled and shook her arm free. She patted her sister's cheek lovingly and stepped away.

"Ah, but you said it yourself, don't you see?"

"No," Renali spat. Otilde shook her head and stepped out of the sea onto the shore.

"She lived, Renali. She _lived._"


	43. Epilogue

Song of the Siren: Epilogue

A/N & Final Acknowledgements: Well, it's been a hell of a thing. This is my first novel-length anything, and I am just shocked that it actually has an end. A year and a half in the making…

So, yes. There is going to be a sequel. I don't know why. Look for Snape.

Huge thanks go to the following:

Reagan – My muse, my darling Aunt Bea, my sexy English prostitute. She was there from day one of this madness, and has been a source of inspiration throughout. Thanks to her, Iphany now has her own story in the works, in a venue completely separate from the Potterverse. Congratulations on being someone's ball-n-chain, Reagan. I 3 you.

Kim – Despite our differences, Kim has given me a great deal of help and, in her own way, encouragement. Arden is a wonderful character, and I hope she goes on to do great things. Thanks for letting me use her, Kim.

Bekah – Where ever you are, dear, you're the sexiest dead witch I've ever met. Thanks for being such a great sport about being zapped by a Siren. Hope to see you around soon.

Brit – My escrapulation twin. Although she never showed much interest in this little project, she's still my favorite person alive. I love you, scrab.

Every reader and reviewer ever – It warms my heart to know that someone, somewhere, was even remotely touched by this story. Thank you all for reading, offering your critiques and praise, and sharing this story with friends. If you're a Snape fan, stick around. He's not done yet.

Thanks again, everyone!

/Epilogue/

**THE DAILY PROPHET**

VOLDEMORT DEAD! DOZENS OF DEATH EATERS APPREHENDED!

"It's over now, and for good this time," said Hogwarts' Headmaster Albus Dumbledore to Daily Prophet reporters late Wednesday night. "Though there are still those out there who may hold the same unnatural beliefs as He-Who-Can-Now-Be-Named, rest assured that they will never again see the light of day. Voldemort is gone, and he is not coming back."

This report may come as a shock to much of the wizarding community, most of whom did not know that Voldemort had again become a threat to society. At approxmiately eight PM on Wednesday night, Albus Dumbledore, along with a team of Ministry Aurors, emerged from the wreckage of what was once the Dark Lord's secret lair. The compound, once a manor of elegant stature, stood just south of Glasgow, Scotland, in a small Muggle village called Edenreigh.

Though Dumbledore declined to comment on how he learned the whereabouts of the hideout, a Daily Prophet insider reported that the Headmaster followed the trail of Harry Potter, who apparently ran away from Hogwarts some time early Tuesday morning. In a story that seems to this Prophet reporter to be somehow related, it has been confirmed that Iphany Novara, 16 and also a Hogwarts student, dissapeared around the same time from Lucius Malfoy's estate in Wiltshire. The young woman was slated to testify against her father before the Wisengamot, where Mr. Novara faced charges of attempted rape. There has been no report yet as to whether or not Ms. Novara has been located, but it has been confirmed that Harry Potter is safe, though he is currently under watch at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Lucius Malfoy is also missing, and the Prophet urges anyone with any information as to his whereabouts to contact the Ministry of Magic immediately.

(_For full story and a list of apprehended Death Eaters, turn to page 2A.)_

- - -

Hermione and Ron glanced nervously at each other as Dumbledore emerged from the small, dark hospital room. The old wizard's face was as placidly cheerful as ever, but Hermione saw the shadows swimming in and out of his pale blue eyes, and for a moment she felt terribly sad.

"Izze okay?" Ron squeaked, rising out of the hard plastic chair. Dumbledore smiled and held out a hand, a silent bidding for Ron to sit. Ron, blushing to the roots of his hair and fighting back what appeared to be tears, sat. The Headmaster paused a moment at the tea-and-cookie station, selected a few lemon tarts, poured himself a generous cup of tea, and finally lowered himself into a chair. Hermione, who was doing a better job of holding in her consternation than Ron, was just about to explode before Dumbledore deigned to answer.

"He will be all right," he said, eyeing a tart dubiously before popping it in his mouth.

"Is he hurt? What happened? Where's…" Hermione lowered her voice, even though they appeared to be entirely alone, "Where's Iphany?"

"Ah," said Dumbledore. "Ms. Novara is gone."

"Oh no," said Ron. He cut his eyes at Hermione. "She said that if Harry didn't get to be with Iphany, he would die. Is that true?"

"It was," said Dumbledore gravely. He balanced his remaining tarts on one knee and took a sip of his tea. "Harry has had an extremely invasive, extensive form of Memory Modification. Though it is impossible to remove a person from one's memory completely, is is possible to remove most of the feelings connected to that person. In Harry's case, this proved nearly impossible, since his feelings for Ms. Novara were not…entirely natural."

"So he's not in love with her anymore?" Hermione asked, looking puzzled rather than relieved. "I thought that was impossible. I thought that when a man fell in love with a Siren, he was in love with her until…until forever. Or until he died."

"That is true, Hermione. And that is why you must take such precaution around Harry for a time. I would say the same to the rest of the students at Hogwarts, but as a whole, if you tell teenagers not to talk about something, it quadruples the chance that they will talk about it." Dumbledore paused and smiled, and finding that his humor ellicited no response from his audience, sobered quickly. "Harry will remember her. He may want to talk about her, and if he does, allow him. But he must never be reminded of his love for her. As far as he is concerned, she was merely a beautiful girl in his house, a girl to whom he felt attracted, but a girl who never really was a part of his life. To that the two of you must hold, no matter what the cost."

Ron and Hermione nodded gravely. Ron seemed to relax finally, sinking back into his chair as though the weight of his bones was suddenly unbearable.

"May we see him?" Hermione asked. Dumbledore nodded.

"He's asked after you. You may go in for a few minutes, but he does need his sleep. His mind has been, for lack of a better description, torn to pieces. It will be a few weeks before he recovers completely."

Dumbledore watched the two children – (were they children anymore? He wasn't certain.) tiptoe tenatively into the room, which was suffused by a quiet yellowish light that spilled out into the hall for a moment before dissappearing again behind the door. He inspected the last of the lemon tarts, and remembering that the first four had been horrible, decided to pitch it into the trash bin. He dusted his hands on his robes, inclined his head on the wall, and fell asleep.

"Hey, Harry!" Ron whispered, gawking uncomfortably at the two or three dozen arrangements of flowers that covered every flat surface in Harry's room. Their frangrance was nearly overpowering – a thousand different pollens and nectars hummed together to form one heavy, sticky smell that made the back of the throat ache. Harry sat back against a few pillows, his face wan but friendly, his eyes devoid of the feral, haunted look they'd held for the last few months. He looked, Ron realized, like his best friend again.

"They just keep bringing them in here," said Harry morosely, following Ron's gaze to the flowers. "I told them to stop, but apparently some of the arrangements are made to explode or turn into scorpions if they aren't delivered."

Hermione hid an ill-suppressed, nervous giggle behind one hand. This wasn't the first time they'd seen Harry laid up in a bed before; after all, one of the hazards of Quidditch was the possibility of reserving a permanent bed in the Hospital wing at Hogwarts. But this…well, this was entirely different, and Hermione found that she was having trouble holding back her tears, as well as the urge to fling her arms around her friend and sob her joy.

"How are you feeling?" she said instead.

"All right," Harry shrugged. "They said Voldemort cursed me pretty good, and that I'll be having weird dreams and such for a while." He heaved a sigh. "They said I have to stay here for two weeks at least."

"Don't worry," said Ron, moving the curtains aside to perch on the edge of the bed. "We'll come visit you. And if you're here for Christmas-"

"No," said Harry vehemently, "I'll be out by Christmas."

"Oh, good," said Ron brightly. "You c'n come to the Burrow!"

Hermione gave him a sideways glance.

"Oh, you, too, Hermione," Ron added with a grin.

Someone knocked on the door, and in unison the three of them chimed a hearty, "Come in!"

A small, pretty Healer in her mid-forties poked her head into the room.

"Time for a nap, Mister Potter," she said, smiling generously at his visitors. "I'll let you say goodbye and then I'll come back."

"'Kay," Harry called, and she shut the door.

"Well," said Ron, "We'll see you, right?"

"Of course," said Harry. "I'll be – " He stopped, suddenly, and looked extraordinarily confused. Ice took the place of the blood in Hermione's veins as she saw that expression she'd come to fear flit dangerously across Harry's gaze.

"What is it?" she asked swiftly, avoiding Ron's panicked glare.

"Oh…" Harry shook his head and smiled sheepishly. "Nothing, must be…it's just weird, you know? All of a sudden, I thought I smelled the ocean." He laughed and stretched, rolling his eyes at his own inanity. "I've never even _been _to the ocean."

"Yeah," said Hermione. "That's weird."

"Must be all the flowers," Ron added helpfully.

"Yeah," said Harry. "Must be."

A fleeting stab of sadness circled his heart, considered it briefly, and then flitted on to greater deeds.

- - -

THE END


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